Godey's Magazine 1895-11: Vol 131 Iss 785

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TEN CENTS A COPY ONE DOLLAR A YEAR ig’ GODEY COMPANY, 52 LAFAYETTE PLACE, NEW YORK

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v) » % 3818 19.00 Gi Pear GS best for the babies, + not only because a Soap they like a bath with. sc os) Pears’—but Pears’ is pure—does not make G 4 the skin smart—softens it—clears the > ssf complexion—is restful and re- 4 freshing to the body- mothers who _ use (is) } Pears’ say so ae For Toilet, Nursery and Bath, G, “There are Soaps offered as substi- 3) tutes for Pears’ which are dangerous —be sure you get Pears’. 8 2OQOO9OS OLE Ti .

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| GODEY' MAGAZINE ESTABLISHED 1830 CONTENTS FOR Petia 2688 i: 1895 Frontispiece—Merlin . - ‘ r ‘ a ‘ ° a 454 From the painting by A. W. B. Lincoln The Taunt of Folly—Verse . , . Rupert Hughes . ° 455 Camera Caprices. : ‘ . Marmaduke Humphrey 456 Some of the most remarkable ac bievements of pho- tography, tending to show that the camera cannot tell the truth. Illustrated. Great Singers of this Century—//. . Albert L. Parkes . : 466 A chatty review of the greatest vocal artists in the memory of man. Illustrated. Fragment— Verse . ‘ j ‘ . Fean Kenyon Mackenzie 474 Wishing— Verse . ; ‘ ‘ . Charles F. Lester ‘ 475 Drawing by the author. Mrs. Potter. , ‘ . Beaumont Fletcher. 476 A study of her dramatic abilities and a review of her new play “ The Queen’s Necklace.’ Illustrated. Pastels in Sage-Green and Gold . . George Montfort Simonson 483 New light on Hetty Green and Russell Sage. With portraits never before published. Teresita— Verse ‘ , . , . Foel Benton ‘ 489 A Scientific Revenge. . Clarence Herbert Woes 490 The efforts of an amateur detective * unrav el a cun- ning plot. Pictures by Parkhurst. The Vatican and the Peace of Europe . esse Albert Locke . 498 How religious and secular affairs are intertwined at the present time. A Tourney at Truth-Telling . p . Robert Treat Whitehouse 502 A farce. Headpiece by R. G. Vosburgh. In Front of the Fire. : , . Robert Beverly Hale . 506 A young Lochinvar’s social introduction to Boston. Pictures by T. B. Robertson. As Others See Us . ‘ ‘ ‘ . Arthur Blount . , 512 A sketch. The Sea of Silence—Verse . ’ . Florence May Alt ‘ 513 The Miracles of Saint Anne . ‘ . Cleveland Moffctt . 514 The visit of an impartial historian to the shrine of Saint Anne at Beaupré, Canada. Illustrated. Artists in Their Studios—V//._. . W.A. Cooper . ‘ 523 The personality and the work of Frank H. Tompkins, of Boston. Illustrated. The Gold Fields of the South : . Lee ¥. Vance ‘ ; 528 Something about the oldest and least known mines in this country. Illustrated. Music in America: VII.— American Grand Opera: Bruno Oscar Klein ‘ ; ; . . 532 With portrait of Mr. Klein and a page of his song music. Dorothy Sargent . . Lsabel Bowman Finley 537 A sequel to “Under the Agele-trees on Paradise Road,’’ published in March, 1895. Book Reviews: College Stories . . Cihelifer . . . 546 Fashion, Fact, and Fancy. ‘ . Countess Annie de Montaigu 549 Copyright, 1895, by The Godey Company. (A// rights reserved.) Entered at New York Post Office as second-class matter. TERMS: $1.00 a year in advance; 1oc.a number. For sale by all newsdealers in the United States and Canada on the 23d of the month preceding date of publication. Subscribers may remit to us in P.O. or express money orders, or in bank checks, drafts, or registered letters. Money by ‘mail is at the sender’s risk. THE GopEy CoMPANY, 52 Lafayette Place, New York City. See special premium offer on advertising pages of this issue.

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Premium Offers. MRS. JOHN G. CARLISLE’S KENTUCKY COOK BOOK. Being a collection of recipes never before published. Collected by The work is dedicated to the women of Kentucky. It con- Mrs. JOHN G. CARLISLE, tains about 500 valuable cooking recipes. Printed on the finest enamel paper, bound in white vellum stamped in gold, with beautiful chrysanthemum design, edition de luxe, sold only by subscription at $2.50. Mrs. WALTER Q. GRESHAM, Mrs. GENERAL CROOK, Mrs. W. A. DUDLEY, Having contracted with the publisher for a large edi- Mrs. GROVER CLEVELAND, tion, The Godey Company offers the complete and others. work, including a six months’ trial subscription to GODEY’S MAGAZINE, for $1.00. The book and the magazine will be mailed, post-paid, to any address in the United States, Canada, or Mexico, without extra charge. FORT FRAYNE. A Novel of Army Life in the Northwest. By CAPTAIN CHARLES KING, U.S.A, Author of “The Colonel’s Daughter ” and “A Wartime Wooing.” 12mo, cloth. Contains 310 pages. Price, $1.25. New York Herald.—‘ The Captain has done many good things. He has a facile pen—too facile, I sometimes think—and tells a story in a way to excite the admiration of boys and stir the blood of old men. He knows how to handle incidents, and does it with skill. I like to read him, and if I had twenty or thirty boys I should buy this book for their delectation.” Boston Globe.—“ Written from memory of the lost manuscript of a drama play to which others con- tributed. Most of its action is in Wyoming. Garrison society, soldiers, and Sioux Indians make the scene brilliantly descriptive of army life. The plot is somewhat sensational, but it is enter- taining every moment.” Milwaukee Journal.—“‘ A typical King story, entirely in his customary vein and fully as interesting as any he has written; well constructed and full of admirable incidents. Captain King makes this story the medium of a defense of the army method of dealing with Indians, or rather a criticism on the Government system of treating the wards of a nation, and, indeed, he makes out a strong case for the army.” Denver Republican.—“ Pleasant reading, pure and wholesome. While the plot of this tale is not materially different from the others of this writer, it holds the interest of the reader; and the garrison tragedies, love scenes, and comedies are painted with the brush of one who sketches from life; and few writers excel Captain King in the realistic picture of battle scenes.” The Godey Company offers this book, together with GopEY’s MAGAZINE for six months, mailed, post-paid, to any address for $1.25. We guarantee safe delivery and perfect satisfaction of each of the above works. Present subscribers desiring the two books may secure them by mail, post-paid, by sending $2.%5 for the two books and Gopey’s MAGAzINE for six months. The books and magazine may be sent to various addresses on request. Money should be sent by post-office money order, express order, draft, or registered letter, made payable to THE GODEY COMPANY, 52 Lafayette Place, New York. Correspondents with advertisers will confer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S. ino. ieee ne ens SRS ING is _—

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GEORGE ELIOT'S WORKS. New Limited Edition of 1000 Copies. George Eliot’s Complete Works, including a life of the author, issued in this attractive library style, uni- form with our remarkably successful éditions de luxe of Dickens, Thackeray, Victor Hugo, and Bulwer, will meet the demands of the literary public more fully than any previous edition issued in this or any other country. The work will contain over 150 Original Etch- ings and Photogravures. The photogravures are reproduced from drawings by the most prominent American artists, among whom are Dielman, Har- per, Sandham, Taylor, Garrett, Merrill, and Champney. These are supplemented with pho- togravures from actual photographs of the localities described in the historical romances. All of the illustrations will be proof impressions on imperial Japanese paper. This edition is printed from entirely new plates, set Jrom new, large type, in a small page uniform with the édition de luxe of Dickens, and will be complete in 24 octavo vols., bound in English vellum cloth, paper titles, gilt tops. It will be issued by subscription only, at the rate of about 2 vols. per month, at $2.50 per vol. Prospectus and specimen pages showing type, page, and paper with sample illustration, sent on application. ESTES & LAURIAT, Publishers, BOSTON. LOcAL REPRESENTATIVES AND SALESMEN WANTED. Scotts Geaie Novels, Edited by ANDREW LANG. New Limited Edition of 1000 Copies. Scott has stamped his genius on an entire country and language, and the Waverley Novels are read by millions, and in every civilized country in the world. 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PL SN Yeay ee

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MERLIN From the painting by A. W. B. Lincoln

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GODEY’S MAGAZINE Vor. CXXXI NOVEMBER, 1895 No. 785 THE TAUNT OF FOLLY By Rupert Hughes Mery, Merlin, hoary sage of sages, High rune-reder, master of the mages Brow-emburthened with the lore of ages, Search not me with patronizing eyes, Make slow haste to count thyself all-wise ; Round thine own fame buzzing gossip flies, Merlin! Merlin! It was whispered by a wrinkled oak, Wroth upon thee for thy larger years, That, at his own feet, thou didst invoke— Not the wisdom brooding Earth uprears, Not the secrets of the starry swirl— But the favor of a mocking girl! Merlin! Merlin! Claspt by thee, Fair Vivien’s flowery form Was a rose-bud pressed in parchment leaves ; Thy blanched locks with Vivien’s tresses warm— Autumn huddling under Winter’s eaves. Wise as serpents, one snake mocked your rule, She beguiled you, made of you her fool, Merlin! Merlin! Therefore search not me with cynic eyes ; I accomplished my beloved emprise. Round my conquest soaring triumph flies : She has deigned to smile, my fateful Norn. My sole wisdom is her love new-born ; Your vast folly was young Vivien’s scorn— Merlin! Merlin !

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Cissy Fitzgerald as an All-round Actress Multigraph by J. D. Bancker. CAMERA CAPRICES By Marmaduke Humpbrey the watchword of Progress. The pot of the world, if watched, will be seen never to stop boiling. The lux- ury of two days ago was the necessity of yesterday, and won’t do at all to-day. The world, once panic-stricken by the suggestion of a locomotive hurtling through space at the incredible speed of twelve miles an hour, now frets at a snail-pace of a mile a minute, and longs impatiently for bicycle-engines guaran- teeing—on paper—four times the ve- locity. Once content with galloping horses as mail-carriers between cities, the end-of-the-centurion is desperate if the continent-linking cable holds his message a minute over time, and grows profane if telephone exchanges permit a few seconds’ delay in his conversation with remote cities. Once awed and de- lighted with ill-smelling, cloudy daguer- reotypes, we now demand Rembrandt portraits from the camera and complain that colors are not reproduced as well as outline and shadow. Science has received almost more help from the lucky people that hit on things accidentally, than from the tire- less skill of scholars. Photography finds its origin, like other branches of chemistry, in an inspiration bestowed Nite « let well enough alone, is on some old alchemist, as madly zealous after the philosopher’s stone and the elixir of life as any perpetual-motion maniac of these later days. It was noted that a substance called horn sil- ver turned black in sunlight, and, though the old gold-bugs scorned it, the stone the builders rejected be- came the prize of later investigators. Scheele, Wedgwood, Davy, Herschel, Fox Talbot, the Niepces, and others worked out various problems, crowned by the labors of Daguerre, who has earned the whole popular credit, like others who put the finishing touches on the minute toil of predecessors. Actual photography is, then, only a half-cen- tury old. But the fifty years have been busy. It is interesting to note that photog- raphy in colors—whose consummation is announced with a great noise every few days, though it is still the unsated hunger of photographers—was perfect- ed in 1852 by Claude Niepce. But though he caught the eel he could not hold it, and he was forced to see his gorgeous flower-photographs fade gradually into blackness, for he could find no fixing solution. The crude and laborious processes of these early explorers have now been re-

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4 Ser ah se geen Te fea acon iva ese ~ fined, enlarged, and perfected till pho- tography has become a dangerous rival of other arts. It can never displace them, but as it improves in efficiency and as its practisers take on more and more of the artist and less of the manual laborer, it gains in respect and value, till it is no longer possible to deny it a certain and growing place among the fine arts. The great obstacle to the success of photography in this line is that the vital artistic principle of Selection has little play ; idealization is hard. A painter uses a model rather to suggest and correct ideal beauties than as a CAMERA CAPRICES 457 background and drape the figure with highest taste; let him enrich it with mellowest lights and shades: yet the camera will clip the wings of his soar- ing ideals, and the retouching pencil is of small aid. Consequently the “ ideal” photograph is at its best rarely more than tolerable, and at its worst, a very horror of all that art is not. But dawn is coming slowly, even in this field, and the devotion of a leisure class, with both time and money to lav- ish on experiments, has helped profes- sional, as well as amateur, photography to a plane of higher achievement and greater promise. One of the most suc- Lola Yberri. Photograph by Saruny, New York, copy to follow exactly. The photog- rapher is the slave of his model. Let him be as skilful as possible in select- ing and posing the subject; let him cessful of these “studies ” is “ Stilling the Storm,” a picture made from a liv- ing model, at Baker's Art Gallery, in Columbus, O. It was wisely accorded

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458 the first prize in the competition at the Fifth Annual Convention of Ohio Pho- tographers. It is an instantaneous flash-light, and was relieved of the usual stiffness of such pictures by the em- ployment of a powerful electric fan to keep the drapery and hair in motion. A greater and rarer charm, however, is the real grace and symmetry of the model and the rapt, poetic sadness in her eerie face. She might be the Lore- lei, brooding over the lost love that in- spired her to revenge herself on the fickleness of men. There is evolution in art, surely, as well as in science, and comparing the first fifty years of photography with the first half-century, say, of Italian painting, one would be justified in most glow- ing prophecies of its future greatness. Painting was once a trade only, and its cuilds were trades-unions. Then com- pare the difference between the rude CAMERA CAPRICES beginnings of a Giotto and the rich per- fection of a later Titian. Compare the stiffness of an early Greek Apollo with the Hermes of Praxiteles, and you will see that the chisel, as well as the brush, needs a few generations of familiarity before its mechanical use can be discov- ered, perfected, and made easy for the free play of artistic fancy and the de- velopment of the ideal side of the art. The camera should be granted the same tolerance for its evolution. That its achievements in the field of the ideal have not been without results quite satisfac- tory and highly promising is proved by such delightful works as the two “Studies” by Mr. Berg, the scene in Holland by Mr. Stieglitz, and Mr. War- rin’s “ Young Italian Mother,” quaintly suggestive of Murillo—all reproduced in Mr. Crane’s article on “ Recent Ama- teur Photography,” published in the September number of this Magazine. In portraiture, photogra- — a phy is highly successful, though the modern nega- tive either fails to preserve detail as perfectly as the old daguerreotype, or when it does this, does not soften the exactness with such kind compromise. To look at an old photograph is to be sur- prised at the little progress made in this direction. The greater commercial value of the modern camera is the warmth and splendor of its results and the flattering abilities of the little retouch- ing pencil. Ay, there’s the rub. Verily, the retouching crayon is a chip off the old Blarney Stone. Beneath its subtle flattery, bones fade away into plumpness and wrinkles sink back into youth ; facial blemishes are no more, and harshness has been attuned to as much harmony as the original framework is capable of. Young men’s mustaches, all too deliberate in growth, Bloodless Decapitation. Photograph by Jacks, New York. take on an impressive lux- uriance ; and the over-zeal-

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Mr. Bancker has a Sociable Game with Himselves. ous chins of elderly women show no un- welcome hirsuteness. Most telling ad- vertisements for “skin-foods” can be made in this way. All that is neces- sary is a photograph of a many-wrinkled old woman ; the retouching pencil pol- ishes off one side of the face, and the contrast is enough to convince any wom- an with a new wrinkle. A most valuable factor, too, in flattery is the choice and manipulation of lights. One of the earliest uses to which pho- tography was turned was engraving, and its perfection in photogravure and its late popularity and effectiveness in half-tone work, have revolutionized modern illustration and seemed to be almost driving line-drawing out of favor. Yet the suggestive vigor and individ- uality of pen-work, can never lose its charm, and a reaction seems to be brew- ing, its first symptoms being shown, as usual, in the ridiculous excesses of Au- brey Beardsley and others of his school. But the velvety gradations of tone pos- sible to the half-tone will always keep it in high esteem. The use of photography in illustra- tion is elevated by the growing fond- ness for working over the half-tone plate with a graving-tool. This permits individual taste and skill, and offers beautiful opportunities for setting off the silky richness of the half-tone with the boldness of engraved lines. CAMERA CAPRICES 459 : Then, too, it is possible to paint any background desired around figures pho- tographed, and the result liberates the partnership of camera and brush into any amount of excursive latitude. The photographer may surround the sub- ject of his camera with boiling surf, a magnificent salon, or far - reaching meadows, and, thanks to the license ex- tended by good-natured humanity, the result is accepted as interesting. The camera is now poking its nose into the drama, also, and a play by photographs was given recently in New York, at the Hotel Waldorf. A reader declaimed the story while a stereopticon threw on a screen photographs illustrat- ing the characters in various familiar scenes. Mr. Chauncey Depew figured in one scene, the heroine of the story being represented as interviewing him at his office. Science was even quicker to seize on photography than art. The ease with which photographs may be enlarged is of especial value here. The camera in connection with the telescope has dis- closed stars and nebule and planetary formations the astronomer could never find. The sphericity of the moon, the differentiation of elevations and de- pressions on its surface, and the nature of sun-spots, are among the countless things that owe their determination to the camera.

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460 CAMERA CAPRICES Then, too, photographs catch minu- tize with so much exactness that when enlarged they disclose details abso- lutely undiscoverable in the original. The camera is thus a most valuable supplement to the microscope, and botany, entomology, and physiology are its infinite debtors for the faultless ex- actness with which it delineates woody fibre, starch granules, blood disks, nerve papille, muscular fibre and the like. The very opposite process being pos- sible, large works of art can be reduced to convenient portfolio size. In fact, the value of photography in art-educa- tion is immeasurable. The prisoner in a small country town can gloat over the Richard Mansfield as ‘‘Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.” Photograph by Van der Weyde, Lon.ion. treasures of the Vatican, and when color- photography is perfected—as it must be soon—then will art-education no longer be a matter of expensive travel. It will be possible to have all of Raphael or any master at hand, and study him in alump, and digest his minutest man- nerisms accurately—manifestly a great advantage to any student of the unau- thentic art-histories of the Renaissance. It is well to note, in passing, another aid photography has rendered art. By greatly enlarging the photograph of a masterpiece whose authorship is dis- puted, it is often found that indistin- guishable hieroglyphics are the remains of a faded signature. Thus enlarged, identification is not difficult. Literature, too, is the debtor of pho- tography. The rarest manuscript of the Homeric poems, the latest discovery of papyrus, can be reproduced in fac- simile and scattered broadcast for the combined examination of a world of scholars. The 1623 edition of Shake- speare has been so reproduced, and we must blame it for making possible the Donnelly cipher absurdity. Unique copies of literary treasures, and rare copies of Izaak Walton’s ‘Compleat Angler,” and any number of such treas- ures can now be bought in fac-simile for one-thousandth of the cost of the original. The great English real-estate record, the Domesday Book, was one of the first to be copied thus. The ease with which photographs can be reduced is, as I have said, of greatest value. During the siege of Paris, for in- stance, copies of long letters and whole newspapers were photographed down so small that they could be sent by car- rier-pigeons. To reduce a group of photographs of five hundred eminent men to the size of a pin’s-head is no great trick. Everyone has seen, too, those neat portraits in which pictures of any size are reproduced as postage stamps. Photography has been much used, surreptitiously, by artists, who photo- graph their models and work from these pictures, or throw the pictures directly on the canvas and trace them out. This none too artistic scheme was once used for sculpture also, and a complex appa- ratus invented for getting all views of EON SNA Nseries Se EAE ENT EI RN HEL ITO LT TANNIN AR tte Ra yn

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Stilling the Storm. Copyright, 1895, by Baker’s Art Gallery, Columbus, O.

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462 CAMERA the model and repeating them on the clay by means of a pantograph. The next step after reducing the photograph was to reduce the camera, and no traveller nowadays is half-way equipped without his little treasure- chest for mementos. Vest-pocket and button-hole cameras have come into play, and our proverb literature has been en- riched with that delightful expression, “You press the button and we do the rest,” on which countless changes may be rung to the delight of sore-pressed professional humorists. Demonology, too, has gained a devil unmentioned by Milton or any of the older directories of Inferno. We now suffer from the Camera- fiend, ubiquitous, ghoulish in glee, and inevitable at moments when one’s moods will not bear perpetuity gracefully. The law has profited frequently by these snap-shots. Divorce suits have prospered, and the Rogues’ Gallery has been a most effective check on ambitious criminals. A pretty example of photo- graphic neatness and despatch was the recent controversy between Defender and Valkyrie. As everyone remem- bers, the former yacht was crippled by the latter and claimed a foul. Val- kyrie’s claim that she had the right of way, and was compelled to collide either with Defender or the judges’ boat was most indisputably refuted by a pict- ure taken by the well-known English photographer, West, at the very moment of collision. The instantaneousness of photography has been of wonderful value. Mr. Ead- weard Muybridge’s photographs of ani- mal locomotion, for instance, have not only worked a radical change in the methods of representing moving animals in illustration, but have actually made us see them differently. His photo- graphs of bird-flight have not only raised the scraggly wings of Japanese art in our estimation, but have affected scien- tific theories of wing-propulsion. Instantaneous photography has sug- gested the kinetoscope and the eidolo- scope. These are more than toys. They have made it possible to perpetuate the art of a great dancer, the genius of the actor, the methods and motions of ath- letes—in short, to change these arts CAPRICES A Bowery Head-hunter. Photograph by Jacks, New York. from fleeting glories of a day to fame as immortal as that of poetry, music, paint- ing, or sculpture. It is hard to realize the full import of this revolution. Among the most effective of recent in- stantaneous photographs are those the distinguished Sarony has made of Lola Yberri, the dancer. By a little prac- tice in sustaining for a second or two the more beautiful of her many lissome poses, and by the camera’s quick seizure of the flying skirts, beautiful results were obtained. How little resemblance one side of the human face actually bears to the other, and how few faces are actually symmetrical could be no more graphi- cally proved than by Mr. Jacques D. Bancker’s patented process, the multi- graph, which represents the subject as his own family circle. Here we have two more Johns than the three Oliver LL ITLL EE I eI I TE EEN TEN Ger SER LCNNRS tear mmes bar aparece

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EMOTO wivermoimece is erie a CAMERA Wendell Holmes said every John is: besides “‘ John as he thinks he is,” and “John as others think he is,” we have several carbon copies of John—all com- bining to make up “John as he really is.” Aside from the very genuine worth of the multigraph in preserving all the likenesses of the subject in compact form under the same conditions and with the same expression—data invalu- able, for example, to a sculptor who would carve a bust or a statue—the mul- tigraph has its humorous side. Miss Cissy Fitzgerald, the winsome English dancing girl, for instance, can see her hat as others see it, and know the best position to assume when she would create a good effect. The larger millin- ery and dressmaking establishments were not long in seeing the importance of the multigraph in reproducing for- eign models, and in displaying to dis- tant purchasers the completest possible pictures of their ware. It is evident that Mr. Bancker is in the CAPRICES 463 his primrose path the remote policeman could identify him from the rear or the flank as well as face to face. ; The modern photographic methods permit a vast amount of tampering with the sun’s original autograph. It is al- so possible to compel Sol to alter his own chirography by additional penman- ship on the same dry plate. The com- posite photograph had its day of glory and received no less than its share of public attention. In the same line is the striking picture of Mr. Richard Mansfield in Stevenson’s dual character, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. The benevo- lent Dr. Jekyll seems to be towering nobly out of the malignant vapors of the disappearing demon that often pos- sessed him. Among the other humors of photog- raphy that also enjoyed a day of popu- larity many years ago was the decapi- tation picture. It has almost disappeared now from vogue, and finds its last habi- tat on the Bowery. The bloodthirsty hands of friends in the picture of his little social game, and he has small fear of losses, however the cards may run. In one of the multigrams the character-actor, George W. Day, has resolved him- self into a band of singers, and shows the usefulness of the process in theatrical ad- vertising. Its wide employ- ment among politicians would be a vast help to hard- worked caricaturists, too. Then Senator Peffer might appear in some other view than the full-face ; President Cleveland might wax or wane out of the three-quar- ters, and Mr. Dana might turn the other cheek and show his full front. Then these Egypt-rivalling, neck- twisting cartoons might lose a little of their strained stiff- ness. The multigraph should also displace the or- dinary photograph in the Rogues’ Gallery, so that as the wily criminal pursues ** Blackberries '"—a Theatrical Poster. Multigraph by J. D. Bancker.

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464 CAMERA CAPRICES youth of that picturesque thoroughfare take a gory delight in carrying their own heads under their arms, or gathering in the heads of other folk. One can al- most hear their disconnected windpipes trying to utter complaints, like the gen- tleman in Dante’s Inferno, or like Arte- mus Ward’s equally ‘“ unfortnet ” canal- boat admiral screaming, “Oh, that I should live to see myself a dead body!” These highly artistic effects are gained in various ways. One of the commonest requires two printings. The subject is photographed in proper position, a print made, the head cut off and pasted on where it is desired, and the result photographed. Neatly done, this betrays none of its mechanism. Another way requires two posers for one result. If, for instance, a man would be represented with what seems to be his own head in his hand, he gets an assistant to kneel or stand so that his head can be prop- erly grasped. The photograph is then taken, and the body of the assistant and the head of the executioner are erased from the negative. Unless the pencil is used this method requires the sacrifice of the background. By exposing one-half of a plate at a time a man may be photographed as shaking hands with himself, trundling himself in a wheelbarrow, and indulg- ing in countless self-communions. Mr. Jacks, a leading Bowery photographer, A Little Giant and a Big Dwarf. is just perfecting a method for repre- senting a man jug- gling half a dozen of his own heads, or playing tenpins, with himself for bowler, scorer, and attendant, his heads for balls and as knobs on the ten- pins. Physiological psychology teaches that we learn to un- derstand distance and volume by ex- perience rather than by intuition. Movable eyeballs, the ability to reach and feel, and memory, all serve to impress upon us the need of reconstructing, mentally, the flat images our retinas present us, into the actual extent and solidity of things. The laws of perspective were never really known till the fifteenth century. The Japan- ese artists do not yet obey them. The camera is always impressing this fact, and much experience is needed to avoid the ludicrous mistakes it falls into. We, in our experience, know that a lead- pencil held close to the eye is not so large as a distant oak, though the pen- cil may shut it completely from sight. Foreshortening is one of the hardest of all tricks. The camera can- not grasp it. If a man’s feet are nearer the lens than his head, his intellectual ap- pearance will suffer, and the most Bostonese head will be overshadowed by more than Chicagoesque feet. If we had only one eye apiece, and that one fixed, and if we had neither memory nor motive power, the distant giant would seem smaller than the contiguous child. A curi- ous proof is the photograph of the crouching man look- ing at the miner down a long gully. The gradual grade of the incline has given perspective no grip, and the result is far from trustworthy. Which shows Photograph by Jacks, New York. Pyare pres

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that the imagination is often more relia- ble than bald facts baldly presented. The use of false bodies roughly sketched on a board, with a place for a genuine head to be appended, was also a cheap and popular amusement of ear- lier years, and still obtains in rural dis- tricts, and the cheaper city galleries. Of these trick photographs one of / os the newest and most ingenious has f just come from France, where it was | printed in La Nature. man falling off a ladder, and dragging general ruin with him. Like many other amazing things, its explanation confounds by its very simplicity. The mountain could not conveniently go to Mahomet, etc. So the manifest incon- venience of a vertical position for the unfortunate subject, was obviated by transferring it to the camera. The camera is supported, lens downward, on a double step-ladder, and the victim of the fall—you might call him Adam— reclines easily on the floor, which has been covered with wall-paper, an imita- tion of wainscoting, pictures, ladder, nails, and hammer. To give the wall-ef- fect a bracket is set upon the floor and a statuette is laid next to it. The floor having served for wall, the wall returns the compliment, and a floor-like platform is set up. Whena rug and a wooden aa KELTON CAMERA CAPRICES It representsa \_ / 465 Two Cases of Big Head. plate have been nailed to it, and when it is supported by the legs of a chair ly- ing on its back, confusion is completely confounded. All things being ready, the subject assumes an expression of horror, or, if he likes, one of bland com- fort, the shutter snaps, and he is con- demned perpetually to falling at a floor which he never reaches. The next bit of humor which Yankee photographic ingenuity shall invent to surpass this Gallic discovery, will doubt- less be an interesting one. A Comfortable Fall. Repriuted from the Literary Digest.

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GREAT SINGERS OF THIS CENTURY By Albert L. Parkes Il magnificent voices and great com- and then in the strongly contrasting op- posers at the beginning of the sec- era of “ Lucrezia Borgia,” that her co- ond half of the present century, and one quettish charms of face in the vocal of the most remarkable vocalists tocom- comedy, and her intense dramatic fire mand contemporaneous critical atten- in the musical tragedy, stamped her as tion was Angiolina Bosio, who came to aa lyric genius of the first rank. this city with the Havana Italian Opera Signorina Bosio’s popularity increased Company, unheralded and almost un- with each succeeding appearance, and known ; yet it was not long after she the marked favor accorded to her by arrived that her graceful figure, artless New York opera patrons aroused the manner, and silvery voice stirred the interest of leading European impresarii. stolid Gothamites to a condition of fe- She had sung in Paris prior to coming verish enthusiasm. to the New World, but her efforts scarce- Bosio was not handsome, nor did she ly inspired critical comment. Now, how- bound into general favor at a single ever, having been branded with the leap. It was only after she had been label of American success, she resolved to return to Paris, and remain there until she could compel European rec- ognition of her claim to prima donna- ship. Meanwhile her success here proved to be gratifying for the reason that Bosio, of all others, did not expect more than the complimentary plaudits usually ac- corded to new-comers, good, bad, and indifferent, and when her season ended here she hastened back to Paris to realize her resolve, by displaying her American wreaths before the flowers could wither. The French critics received her cold- ly, and her spirits began to droop, until the illness of Giulia Grisi sup- plied the coveted pedestal upon which Bosio could pose, and conquer. The op- era was “I Puritani,” and Bosio hazard- ed her whole future upon her success as Elvira. It was a great performance, for Bosio seemed to be inspired ; and when her glorious voice had trilled through the cadenzas of the polacca, Paris had acknowledged fealty to a new lyric queen. From Paris to London is but a step in the prima donna’s lad- der to fame, and then comes St. Petersburg, where they mingle diamonds with applause. ‘ ‘HERE was almost a plethora of heard as Norina in “L’Elisire d’Amore,” Angiolina Bosio. There is no doubt that, subse-

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quent to her New York début, Bosio must have labored incessantly for the improvement of her voice, which, after her final appearance here, a local critic described as being of “liquid silver.” One little secret of the grandest im- portance must be told concerning this wonderful diva: she could not read a note of music, which indicates that her powers of memory and sense of tune must have been phenomenal. It was with profound sorrow that the & lyric world learned of the untimely death of this tone marvel at St. Peters- burg, in the first bloom of womanhood, and when the sad news reached Paris this expression became prevalent at the clubs : “ Bosio’s death is Patti’s chance,” and the expression proved to be pro- phetie. The world moves; so does musical composition ; and while the great ex- ponents of vocal agility were in the ascendant, a new type of opera, called the massive romantic, was formulated by Carl von Weber in his “ Der Frei- schiitz,” which was gradually displacing the popular taste for what the new Ger- man composers derisively termed Ital- ian “candy,” music of Rossini, Bellini, and Donizetti. These same Teutons taunted Rossini with being an operatic “confectioner,” to which he responded with that lyric masterpiece “ William Tell,” which silenced them. Italians contended that Germany had produced only one singer, Madame Son- tag, and suggested that one swallow does not make summer ; but they soon discovered their mistake, for Paulina Lucca, a new candidate for the prima donna’s laurel, had lately emerged from the choir of the Karlskirche, at Vienna, a full-fledged diva of the first class. Petite in figure, beautiful of face, with large, fascinating blue eyes, and a lovely complexion—in short, a veritable pocket Venus de luxe, “ Unsere kleine Paulina” (our little Pauline), as she was affectionately named by the habitués of Der Prater and Unter den Linden, elec- trified the entire operatic world by the beauty of her voice and extraordinary versatility as an actress. She sang in “Sappho” one night, and in “Fra Diavolo” the next, with GREAT SINGERS OF THIS CENTURY 467 Lucca the same perfection of art, but her in- terpretation of Marguerite, in Gounod’s * Faust,” is now remembered as an ex- clusive and almost classic revelation. King William of Prussia and the then Count Bismarck were among her most energetic admirers, while the foremost composers vied with each other in the creation of new parts for die kleine Paulina to sing. Meyerbeer wrote Seli- ka, in “L’Africaine,” expressly for the reigning German favorite. Having conquered Europe with the beauty of her voice, art, and personal charms, Lucca crossed the Atlantic and made her first appearance as Margue- rite in “Faust” at Hoym’s German Thea- tre, now called the Windsor, on the Bowery. The entrance of Lucca in the second act created a memorable sensa- tion, for nearly ten minutes elapsed before the tones of her brief recitative could be heard, and the entire perform- ance was marked by the frequent ova- tions accorded to the star singer by an audience numbering over 4,000; but Lucca was disappointed with her sur- roundings, which were entirely unwor- thy of either the artist or the occasion. She had been induced to come to Amer- ica by a local merchant, who, after los-

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468 ing $30,000 on the venture, concluded that he knew nothing of operatic man- agement, but seemed much satisfied with the experience he had bought. This sort of direction expedited Luc- ca’s return to Europe, and Prussian regal and popular favor; and on her arrival in Berlin a sincere welcome awaited her. In her domestic life Luc- ca was not happy. She has been twice married to noble soldiers. Having ob- tained a divorce from her first husband while in New York, she then became the wife of Baron von Walhofen, who was wounded while leading a cavairy charge at Metz, during the Franco-Prussian war. The brave little woman visited and tended him on the battle- field. After varying fortunes, and a somewhat romantic career, Lucca retired from the stage over ten years ago, and is now engaged in teaching a class of prospec- tive prima donnas at her music school in the German metropolis. Happily for the lovers of opera in the middle of the current century, the suc- cession to the lyric throne, soon to be vacated by Jenny Lind, had been settled in advance by the popular fiat in favor of Marietta Alboni,a native of Cesena, in the Romagna, who had just emerged from her teens. It was her good fort- une to have a father who encouraged and aided her natural love of music by committing her voice to the care of Signor Baggioli. This famous music- teacher was the father of the prima donna Teresa Baggioli, who became Mrs. Daniel E. Sickles, and was subsequently the cause of the Sickles-Key tragedy at Washington. Little Marietta’s voice deeply inter- ested Rossini, her final instructor, who, when questioned about his pupil’s sing- ing capacity, replied, “At present she has the voice of a street-singer, but in less than a year the town will be at her feet.” At twenty she made her début in *Lucrezia Borgia,” and followed at La Scala, Milan, as Leonora in “La Favor- ita” to the success predicted for her by Rossini at the time of his signing these two engagements. “I am,” said the great maestro, “ a subscribing witness to your union with renown. May success and happiness attend the union.” These GREAT SINGERS OF THIS CENTURY good wishes were realized in Alboni’s subsequent re-engagement at La Scala. Later on, Alboni sang for three con- secutive years at Vienna, and then for two terms at the Muscovite capital. A concert tour of the Netherlands came next in order, and then she went to Ber- lin. Upon ker arrival in the Prussian capital some friends urged her to call upon the leading local musical critic, as he was one of the most potent journal- istic powers in the German states. “How does he concern me?” queried Alboni. “Why,” responded her ad- viser, “if you fail to call on him you are ruined.” The beautiful young singer proudly answered, “ Well, let it be as heaven directs ; but I wish it to be under- stood that in my breast the woman is superior to the artist, and though I should fail I will not purchase success at such degrading cost.” When this was told in fashionable circles Alboni was much lauded, and the King invited her to sing at his palace, and rewarded her with numerous evidences of royal favor. Alboni possessed a beautiful con- tralto voice of sumptuous quality, rang- ing from F below to C sharp in alt, which enabled her to sing florid soprano music with the same ease as that written for contralto réles, and while not a very great actress she was always a very con- scientious artist. Comparatively unknown to the Eng- lish, her first appearance at Covent Gar- den, London, in 1847, created such a sensation that in one night this splen- did vocalist became famous, despite the Jenny Lind mania then prevalent. This was especially remarkable as the Swed- ish Nightingale was shortly to appear at Her Majesty’s Theatre, the rival camp of grand-opera devotees. Her triumphs here were followed by her unprecedent- ed lyric conquest of the Parisians, which continued until her abrupt departure from the French capital in the succeed- ing spring. Before leaving she had promised to sing at an old artist’s bene- fit, but in the haste of her flight she had neglected to notify him of her in- ability to participate at his concert. The old man was despondent, and very few tickets were sold, but Alboni, true to her promise, returned to redeem her word, although her unexpected presence

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GREAT SINGERS OF THIS CENTURY 469 Alboni. could be of little service at that moment. Going to his room, Alboni surprised the doleful beneficiary by asking the amount of expenses his benefit had en- tailed. “ Five hundred francs, madam,” responded the old man, in gloomy tones. “ There!” exclaimed the diva, “are a thousand francs to make good your losses,” laying a bank-bill on his table. “T came back to help you. Adieu!” And the generous woman was gone. The beginning of 1853 found Alboni singing in concerts at the old Broad- way Theatre in New York to very ap- preciative assemblages ; and it was not until late in March that New Yorkers heard this grand vocalist in opera, when she appeared, under Mr. Max Maretzek’s direction in “Don Pasquale,” to un- qualified praise. ‘ La Favorita,” “ Nor- ma,” “ Lucrezia Borgia,” ‘‘ La Ceneren- tola,” “La Gazza Ladra,” and “Don Giovanni,” with Rosa Devries, Amalia Patti, Salvi, Beneventano, Marini, and Rovere in the cast, at one dollar ad- mission! What an incomparable cast —and what a price! Just think of it, ye modern seven - dollar-a-seat opera patrons. The results were, however, far from gratifying to Alboni, who was disap- pointed in not having duplicated what she termed the “craze” for her im- mediate predecessor, Jenny Lind. Her farewell concert was given at Tripler Hall, where the Broadway Central Ho- tel now stands, for the benefit of Signor Arditi, and attracted an overwhelming throng of admirers ; but popular recog- nition had been too long delayed. Dur- ing her stay in this city some of the Pfaff Bohemians had expended much cheap wit in the current papers regard- ing Alboni’s amplitude of figure. One writer suggested that All-boney was a misnomer, and that it should be All- fatty, and the “smarties” of the day prattled this vulgarism much to the disgust of the stately Italian singer. After Alboni’s return to France she

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| if 470 GREAT SINGERS OF THIS CENTURY married the Count de Pepoli, in 1853, and then unexpectedly continued her professional career until the early seventies, when her vocal labors found rest in the peaceful seclusion of her Ital- ian chateau. Alboni was a gen- uine songstress, with what may be ralled a voluptuous voice, full of charm, expression, and fa- cility. Her phrasing was inimitable in her day, and she sang with placid features and with- out apparent effort —in contrast to the facial distortions of her vocal contempo- raries. In private life she was gay, amiable, generous, Piccolomini. and the very reali- zation of domestic simplicity ; besides being the first to laugh when told of the ill-natured criticisms uttered by her less gifted rivals on the operatic stage. Perhaps the most fortunate of all the prime donne of the period, was petite, piquant, and pretty Marietta Piccolo- mini, a descendant of the historical Car- dinal Piccolomini, and distantly related to Pope Pius Il From early infancy in her native town of Sienna to the night of her first triumph in “Tl Poliu- to” and “Don Bucefalo” at Rome, in 1852, in her sixteenth year, Piccolo- mini revealed a mania for singing and acting. With a high, pure, flexible, crisp, and fluent soprano of more than two octaves in compass, she combined a slender figure, elegant in its graceful outlines, and a bewitchingly fascinating vivacity which captivated the public and disarmed the critics. When she sang in her native town the Siennese seemed to have become delirious with the rapture of listening to their pet, while she warbled the woes of the con- sumptive heroine of “ La Traviata.” At Florence, later on, her ambition led her to sing the title rdle in “ Lu- crezia Borgia,” in which, at an intensely dramatic point, Lucrezia exclaims to her husband, “ Tremble, Duke Alfonso ! Thou art my fourth husband, and I am a Borgia!” The scene was so droll that the audience accompanied that lit- tle girl’s portentous threat with peal up- on peal of boister- ous laughter. Yet this opera was given for twenty consecu- tive nights. As has become the method of modern singers and actress- es, new operas, stars, and plays are tried on “small town dogs,” to speak tech- nically, before the attack is made on metropolitan audi- ences. Piccolomini pursued these tac- tics, and, proving acceptable to the rurals, she visited London, Paris, and other European cap- itals, which covered a period of several years, during which the “Little Flirt ” was the rage. It was the next season after the memorable panic of 1857 that Piccolomini arrived here, and by her winsome representation of Marie in “The Daughter of the Regiment,” in which she sang and drummed the “Ciascun lo dice” with so much vivacious charm, that New York’s Four Hundred of that day were at her feet. It was this little diva’s fascinating personality more than her voice that made her the favorite of the hour. At the close of the season she re- turned to London, and received a fer- vid welcome, which was attested by the presence of ten thousand people at her Crystal Palace concert, and which also closed her professional career, as she thereafter retired from the operatic field to fill a matrimonial engagement with the Marquis Gaetano. Yes, Piccolomini sang once more, and that for the bene- fit of the sufferers by an earthquake in her native Italy. The home life of this charming woman was made bright by her happy, sportive temperament, which always had done her yeoman’s service when she was involved in the inevitable a

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om ete tne ghey Orit ae eee wie snarls and intrigues of the opera-house green-room. One of the most popular vocalists of her day was Mlle. Anna de la Grange, who began her operatic life at the Théa- tre de la Renaissance, Paris, in 1841, at the age of sixteen, and very soon after- ward married and retired from the stage, as the Baroness de Stankowitch of Montenegro. Fourteen years later, circumstances brought her back to an artistic career which recommenced at Niblo’s Garden, in New York, where she created a furore by the agility and liquidity of her singing of Rossini’s florid music, of Rosina in “Il Barbiere di Seviglia,” and in other equally diffi- cult parts during a summer season. The ensuing September found La Grange at the Academy of Music, hav- ing been engaged by Mr. William H. Paine, a wealthy amateur impresario, whose good luck in having secured such asinger caused rival Italian managers Anna de la Grange GREAT SINGERS OF THIS CENTURY 471 to say: “‘ Heaven has rained cheese on Paine’s macaroni,” as the new prima donna proved to be a great card despite her lank figure and plainness of feature. After touring the chief cities of this country La Grange returned to Eng- land in the spring of 1858, and having then made a successful circuit of the European operatic centres, she came back nine years later, and reappeared at the dedication of Pike’s Opera House, now the Grand Opera House, on Eighth Avenue and Twenty-third Street, New York. This great singer eventually settled down in Paris, where she has become a celebrated voice cultivator. It will not be out of place here to re- late a notable romance in real life re- sulting from Mr. Paine’s lesseeship of the Academy of Music. He announced at the beginning of his season that young American girls with promising voices would be afforded the first facilities for public hearings, and one day Miss Eliza Hensel, the daughter of a Boston tailor, and possessed of a fine voice, pretty face, and comely figure, applied and was engaged for the season. Having been thoroughly coached, she sang the rdles of Adalgisa in “ Norma,” and Bertha in “Le Prophéte,” to marked favor ; in fact she did so well that Mr. Paine sent her to Paris for fur- ther training, when, later on, she was engaged for the Lisbon opera season. On her appearance at the Portuguese capital she made such an impression that Count Fernand, consort of Queen Maria da Gloria, became her patron, and it was not long after that the Queen died, and Miss Hensel, who had been created a Countess, became the wife of Dom Fernand. Thus the Boston tailor’s daughter, being the spouse of a Prince of Coburg, be- came sister-in-law to Queen Victoria, aunt of the Prince of Wales and the King of the Belgians, and mother- in-law of the present King of Portugal. — Nor was this the extent of her influence, as it will be remembered that, at the time of her marriage to Dom Fer-

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472 GREAT SINGERS OF THIS CENTURY nand, when Queen Isabella was exiled from Spain, Bismarck sought to place a Hohenzollern on the Spanish throne, while Napoleon III. desired that soft place for a Bonaparte. Finally, as a compromise, Dom Fernand was selected for the position ; but the proud Castil- ians objected, because of his wife’s lowly birth. However, their consent was ob- tained on condition that Dom Fernand would secure a papal divorce from his mous hit at the Academy of Music, in New York, as Amina in “ La Sonnam- bula,” while at that period this lovely artist had few superiors in such operas as “Lucia” and “Rigoletto.” A few months later, Frezzolini found a formid- able rival on the same stage in Marietta Gazzaniga, a dramatic singer of great. intensity and of extraordinary vocal compass. This lady had already achieved fame in the great lyric temples of the Frezzolini. wife. This the loyal husband declined, “all on account of Eliza,” and in the course of events his declination made France a republic and Germany an em- pire. Few eminent sopranos have possessed creater charms of face and person than Ermine Frezzolini, who, in early youth, sang a round of engagements in the opera-houses in her native Italy. Later on in her early twenties, she held the Parisians captive by the spell of her sweet and pure soprano voice. Four years later, in 1857, she scored an enor- Old World, and her silvery tones and dramatic power as Violetta, in “La Traviata,” won the admiration of the older Academy habitués. As it has always been, one stage can- not hold two great prime donne in peace ; consequently, behind the Acad- emy curtain jealousy and intrigue held sway. Injudicious advisers and offi- cious friends became so active in behalf of their respective queens as to cause the patrons of opera to form antagonis- tic camps. The old folk pinned their faith to Madame Gazzaniga, who had

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i ENE pease DAL iy srw SOD ANID STERN Veet Oty recently married the Marquis de Mala- spina, while the young New Yorkers swore by the beauty and talent of Frez- zolini. These artists, being in the same com- pany, of necessity travelled together, and the following is related to illustrate one of the devices adopted by those in- terested in efforts to mould public opin- ion in favor of the elder singer. Frezzolini and Gazzaniga sang in al- ternate operas. When Frezzolini war- bled, the jeunesse dorée of Gotham bom- barded her with floral offerings ; and, not to be outdone, the disciples of Gaz- zaniga saw the Frezzolinists and went them one better by covering the stage with flowers whenever their goddess sang. As husband of Gazzaniga, the Mar- quis de Malaspina, dutifully worked with fervor to turn the scale in her fa- vor, as the Frezzolinists were evidently getting the upper hand. One night when Gazzaniga came on in the ball- room scene of “La Traviata,” flowers fell thick and fast at her feet. Not noticing these, she made direct for a lovely little white wreath which she had no sooner picked up than she hurled it from her with expressions of rage and disgust. Her friends were almost pet- rified by her conduct, while the ad- mirers of her rival hissed their condem- nation of her actions. Once more she took up the wreath and held it between the tips of her fingers before the audi- ence for their inspection. It looked like a pretty coronet of white roses. Meanwhile the uproar in front of the stage increased, when Gazzaniga, with scornful face, advanced to the foot- lights, holding up her hand for silence to be heard. In an instant all was hushed, and then in her most tragic tones the prima donna exclaimed: “See for yourselves, it is a crown of garlic.” This coup de thédtre split up the Frezzolini camp, as many of her most ardent devotees believed that this mean and contemptible trick had been in- spired by hatred for her rival. It was not long after the season had ended that the chef of a well-known restau- rant, while in his cups, revealed the fact that Monsieur le Marquis had paid him alarge sum for creating a coronet of GREAT SINGERS OF THIS CENTURY 473 garlic for his wife, which proved to be a crown of thorns for her innocent ri- val. Apropos of non-professional Italian opera husbands—they are rudely desig- nated as “satchel carriers ” by the other members of the company, because they carry the prima donna’s little bag of paints and facial make-up to the dress- ing-room of the opera-house. These useful gentlemen are rarely introduced otherwise than as “Il marito della prima donna” (The husband of the prima don- na). The husband’s name is ignored. It is sad, however, to record that, al- though Frezzolini had received immense sums of money, she died in abject pov- erty. A contemporary of the period wittily summed up this great artist’s career by saying : “ Frezzolini sang dur- ing two decades, and loved enough for two centuries.” A majestic and lovely woman, as well as a really grand singer, was Euphro- syne Parepa de Boyesku, who first saw light at Edinburgh, in the spring of 1836. Her father was from Bucharest and her mother was a Seguin, from whom Euphrosyne inherited her mar- vellous vocal gifts. When sixteen, Mile.

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474 FRAGMENT Parepa sang in “La Sonnambula,” at Malta, and scored a triumph which served as an Open Sesame of all the opera-houses in Europe. During her tour she married Captain Henry de Wolfe Carvell, who died in Peru, soon after their union. Under the manage- ment of the late H. L. Bateman, she appeared in concerts in New York in 1865, aided by Carl Rosa, a fine violin- ist, and Levy, the famous cornet-player. Her voice was of marvellous volume, and when singing “Let the Bright Seraphim,” with its trumpet obligato, and the “ Inflammatus ” from Rossini’s “Stabat Mater,” at Gilmore’s Garden concerts, her magnificent tones over- topped the most powerful forte effects of Gilmore’s great band. Parepa was incomparable in old Scotch and English ballads; but her success in opera was qualified, owing to her majestic person- ality. Her private life was irreproach- able, and as it had been my good fort- une to be on the list of her trusted friends Iam enabled to furnish an au- thentic story of her subsequent court- ship and marriage with Carl Rosa. In those days Herr Rosa was young, short, lank, and shambling, with large bones, ruddy German face, and abun- dant light brown hair. Modest and unassuming, he was a fine violinist, and the last man in the world one would think of as a mate for such a vocal Diana. One day, while enjoying a ¢éte-d-téte in her rooms at the Belvedere Hotel in New York, the beautiful songstress sat up in her easy-chair, extended her hand, and laughingly exclaimed : “ Congratu- late me, my friend: I am going to be married.” ‘To this I responded, “ You are joking upon a very dangerous sub- ject.” é “T knew,” she replied, “you would not believe me ; but guess who it is.” To this I answered, “If you are real- ly in earnest, forgive my stupidity ; I congratulate you heartily and sincerely.” “ Well,’ she continued, “ between ourselves, I asked little Carl to marry me, and do you know, it nearly took the little fellow’s breath away.” For an in- stant I looked into those large, laugh- ing eyes, and was about to speak, when Parepa placed her hand on my arm and said, “I read your thoughts ; you would ask how it is possible, so I'll tell you. I did the courting, for I found that all you big, brave men were afraid of me, and I knew that Carl loved me, but lacked the courage to ask. So now youll come to our little affair of a wed- ding, and youl find out what a good boy I've chosen.” Poor, lovely Parepa had a mania for children, and would stop on the street to kiss the little ones coming from school, and it is sad to write that this noble lady perished on the altar of her maternal instincts. Her death has de- prived the world of a model woman and a marvellous singer. \ > FRAGMENT Jean Kenyon Mackenzie Ir Summer be within the house, What harm if Winter stand before The casement or besiege the door ?-— If Summer be within the house! If Winter shall have entered in, All Summer’s gentle arts shall fail And song and sigh shall not avail— If Winter shall have entered in! Pear ovat emnrnne spe

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Hide orto yrs: erate: Se on ath mth tte -) WO \ Nygaers 4° WISHING “Comes, wish with me!” cries Tom, in glee. “T will,” says pretty Rose. Their stands they take, their wishes make, And “snap” the wishbone goes. ‘*Ha-ha! I get my wish!” cries she, “The longer piece is mine, you see.” Says the youth to the maid, “I’m much afraid My wish is lost,” says he ; “Though would I knew what I could do That it might granted be. That wish would have brought me perfect bliss, For I wished ”—and he took her hand —‘ for this.” Says the maid to the youth, ‘‘If you say truth, I’d not despair,” says she ; ; ‘* Perhaps there may be found a way That both may granted be. For (wasn’t it really the funniest thing ?) I wished—for a dear little diamond ring!” C. F. Lester.

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j em SRS a MRS. POTTER IN *LE COLLIER DE LA REINE” By Beaumont Fletcher AY I make so bold as to submit to your considera- tion this proposi- tion? Genius is obeying the high- er of conflicting commands when it overrides every- thing that re- stricts it—every- thing! I do not insist upon its correctness, I merely suggest it. Bernard Palissy has won an eternity of applause because he burnt up all his furniture and utterly neglected the com- fort and welfare of his starving family in a mad desire to keep his pottery-fur- nace even more than seven times heated. On personal grounds Xanthippe was eminently justified in complaining of her shiftless husband ; but she was in the way of those golden Socratic cross- examinations at idle street corners; so Mrs. Grundy, a highly respectable old body as a rule, though often a bit med- dlesome and prudish, and not always well-meaning—good Mrs. Grundy is for- ever in the way of great artists. When you consider the magnificent determination, the soldierly inability to recognize defeat, and the courageous tenacity that have supported and en- forced the artistic creeds of Mrs. James Brown Potter, it is hard to deny her something dangerously akin to genius. The heroes of the retreat from Moscow underwent no fiercer ordeal than this lone woman, beset by journalists as by wolves, on a path made bleak by the great ignorant prejudice that cannot separate the artist from the person, and unsupported by the wealth that allays wounds and smoothes roughnesses and bribes friendship. Beauty goes all too rarely with such Spartan heroism, and, The Necklace. at the risk of seeming to gush, I hasten to pay most sincerest homage to the personality of this Joan of Art. Born on a lonely Louisiana planta- tion, and taught only by her mother, who made Shakespeare the child’s text- book, and who wrote little plays instead of examination papers, how was the girl to avoid the career of an actress? For, say what you will of the stage, its fasci- nation is overwhelming once it fastens on a human soul. Nothing more unfortunate than the notoriety attending Mrs. Potter’s début could be imagined. Every family quar- rel has two sides, and she has never told hers. But the prejudice against her warped all the views of her art into blind bigotry, and it is only now, after seven years of the hardest struggle against adversity in her own country, and after great success in Australia, In- dia, Japan, and England, that American critical torpidity and bias have shown any tendency to evince fairness. Her rentrée last Spring into New York in the title-rdle of ‘Charlotte Corday” evoked genuine enthusiasm, and her present appearance in a dual character of strong contrast has served to estab- lish her more firmly than ever in critical favor—if that does any good. This is not the first time that the critics have taken a few years to find out what the general public recognized from the first. I remember well Mrs. Potter’s first dramatic season. She has lost none of her charm since then; rather, she has ripened into greater power. She has a bewitching stage presence all her own ; she is long and lithe and tawny as a panther, with an opulence of brown- red hair tumbling about an eerie face whose tense thin lips and great lustrous eyes show a nature that is full of con- trasting forces for all its look of youth. Her enthusiasm and vivacity, her beam- ing good-humor, and then the sullen

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SEAS AR ce oid ners MRS. POTTER 477 depth of her severer moods, and her truth to the wounded calm of hurt womanliness, should have been accepted at once as promising histrionic endow- ments. She has often been accused of mimicking Bernhardt’s mannerisms. She certainly bearssome resemblances to the great Sara, but they are coincidences. She may have profited in some things by the art of the Frenchwoman—she has caught a bit of the chanting intona- tion possibly; but genius always, and wisely, studies the methods of predeces- sors. Yet Mrs. Potter has little of the essentially theatric mannerisms that al- ways mar Bernhardt’s verisimilitude. She has, besides, something of the lan- guor and calm of Duse. But, all in all, Mrs. Potter tne actress is Mrs. Potter the woman. Her individuality is her own. Her experience—and the stage has countless lessons that can be learned Mrs. Potter as the Queen, Act |. Photograph by Aimé Dupont, New York. only by apprenticeship—has all been gained asastar. From being an ama- teur actress and a reciter of remarkable ability, she leaped at once into the fierce white light of stardom. Mrs. Taber (Julia Marlowe) had the same experi- ence. That both have succeeded in spite of venerable stage tradition, does not disprove the value of the old idea, but only reflects the greater credit on gen- ius that can be a rule-proving exception. The repertory acquired by Mrs. Pot- ter in her years of dramatic toil and moil is something astonishing: Shake- speare almost entire ; most of the classic comedies, ‘ She Stoops to Conquer ” and the rest ; and many of the French plays. Probably her greatest achievement was the title-réle in Zola’s “‘ Thérése Raquin ” a play of such grimness, lighted by such peaceful humor and yet fulminating such tremendous moral truths and pun- ishments, with such enforcement of dra- matic laws and possibilities that I should place it very close even to “ King Lear” and “Othello.” I believe that no playwright since Shakespeare has put forth its equal. Its claim to com- parison with the work of our Immortal is strength- ened by its dissimilarity. It does not rival; it has its own field; it is its own school. The play, as mas- tered by Mrs. Potter and Mr. Bellew, searched through my soul and haunt- ed me as nothing has im- pressed me since, as a child, I cowered before the witch- ery and horror of “ Mac- beth.” Yet one of our most prominent critics dismissed the play with a few con- temptuous lines about “the filthy scavenger, Zola!” I presume, and hope, he wrote without seeing the play, and only from his su- perb prejudices. The moon-rise always meets ca- nine protest. The play Mrs. Potter has chosen for her present season is an adaptation

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478 from a great Parisian success, Decour- celle’s “Le Collier de la Reine.” It seems to me that its translator, Mr. Charles Henry Meltzer, who is one of our most conscientious dramatic critics, should have begun with the name: “The Queen’s Necklace,” being more consist- ent and of higher commercial value. The drama requires a cast of operatic pro- portions and is pre-eminently pictu- resque. Thescenery and costumes are so lavishly splendid as to deserve and com- mand complete success. The critics, by the way, are too much inclined to frown upon these picture-plays, though they ap- peal to the highest esthetic qualities in our nature—the dramatist, in partner- yy Se yg { j \ The Queen in the Boudoir and Chapel Scene. MRS. POTTER ship with the costumer, scene-painter, and stage-manager, being busied in spreading upon an immense canvas pag- eants of kaleidoscopic beauty in which living, moving beings are the colors of his palette. These almost fearfully wonderful cos- tumes are going, Parisians say, to revo- lutionize our fashions ; but if these in- credible hats once enter the theatre from the front, the course of the pictu- resque play will commit suicide, because audiences, being unable to see, will go only to listen. Then, too, the furious ecstasy of matin¢ée femininity over these wholesale furbelows—is that the word ? —and these colossal splendors, augurs ill for the cause of dress reform. What daughter of Eve will prefer the severity of bloomers to these dazzling complica- tions, these gowns built up and elabor- ated into epic poems ? Dramatically “‘ Le Collier de la Reine ” is by no means perfect. Its last two acts are full of fire, quick movement, and strong situations ; the first of it is almost incoherent. M. Decourcelle was truly embarrassed with his riches. He has written con amore, but he loves too promiscuously. The crowded romance and intrigue of the court of Louis XVI. is also crowded into the play, and much of the first part cannot be understood at asinglehearing. This fault, however, will doubtless be remedied, as others have already been, before the play is much older in English. As the dramatist’s opening words, which should be especially artistic, usu- ally have to outsoar the banging of seats and the tread of tardy auditors, an Irish friend suggests that the play should not begin till half an hour after it has commenced. But till this suggestion is put into practice one must forgive prefatory transgressions in the drama. In M. Decourcelle’s scheme of things the curtain rises on the poverty of the Comtesse de la Motte Valois, who in an unintel- ligible soliloquy tries to let it transpire naturally that she is tired of beg- ging the charities of more prosperous, if less high-born, nobles. Now enters a rogue, Beau-

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sire, with a complaint (which tries to be and ought to be funny, but isn’t), that his young wife Oliva has run away from him after a quar- rel. This Oliva is living un- der the protection of Count Cagliostro, who is inimical to the Queen, and hopes to injure her by using Oliva as a tool, the resemblance between the hilarious romp and Marie Antoinette being remarkable. Mrs. Potter. plays both Oliva and Marie Antoinette, and is as much of a tomboy in the one character as she is a queen in the other. Marie Antoinette’s charity has led her to pay a visit in person, but incognito, to the Comtesse de la Motte Valois, whom she promises her per- sonal protection. The Com- tesse, having never seen the Queen, does not recognize the identity of her visitor till the Cardinal de Rohan visits her, and seeing a bon- bonniére forgotten by the Queen recognizes it as Marie Antoinette’s. The Cardinal’s cloth has not kept him from being both a libertine and an ambitious statesman. He sees a chance of re-in- stating himself in the favor of the Queen, whom he had offended with advances, and realizing the possible power the Comtesse may gain with the Queen, he persuades her to become his mistress, appease the Queen, aid him to become Prime Minister, and then rule France with him “with two heads but only one heart.” To this the Comtesse, ignoring a small thing like a husband in the way, assents rapturously, and getting her ball-gown out of pawn with the money given by the Queen, she has- tens to the villa the wily Cardinal has placed at her disposal. That Mr. Kyrle Bellew plays the Cardinal is proof in advance that this scene would be strong and moving. The scene now changes to the snow- stormed streets, where a quartet of MRS. POTTER 479 Mr. Bellew as the Cardinal de Rohan. Photograph by Falk, New York. ragged thieves meet by appointment to discuss plans for stealing a wonderful necklace of diamonds, worth a million and a half livres, made by the court- jeweller, Bossange, for the Queen, but refused by her because, so she said, the country needed ships more than she needed diamonds. In fact, two or three incidents, representing the econo- mies and privations necessary even to royalty make this play vastly comfort- ing to ordinary folk weary of hard times and loving company in their misery. So many people had been run over by sleighs that winter in Paris that an or- dinance forbidding their use had to be passed. As the Queen left the house of the Comtesse to drive to Versailles, her sleigh was attacked and wrecked by a

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Mr. Bellew. violent mob ; but, in spite of the plead- ings of her companion, Andrée de Taverney, the Queen refused to declare her identity. From this desperate and well-managed situation, they are rescued by the appearance of a young officer, the Count de Charny, who drives the mob back with his sword, and escorts the Queen to Versailles. The Second Act discloses that toy Eden, Petit Trianon, where her Majesty indulged in a sort of Dresden china pastoral life. Here the gorgeously robed gentlemen and ladies of the court dance, swing, and play blind- man’s-buff, while Marie Antoinette feeds her chickens and makes butter. The whole act is one of exquisite beauty, and Mrs. Potter is perfect in the dif- ficult combination of majesty and gayety. Young De Charny having learned that he had rescued no less a woman than the Queen; has fallen desperately in love with her, and hoping to flee his mad, vain passion, comes to beg King Louis’s permission to return to America, our Revolution being then in progress. The Queen, however, who now meets him for the first time since her rescue, MRS. POTTER insists upon attaching him to her court. Mrs. Potter’s acting in this scene was most deliciously subtile. Enter now that famous necklace. The cunning Comtesse, knowing the Queen’s womanliness, advised the Car- dinal that nothing could so help him to her favor as the purchase of the neck- lace. Having heard that the Queen of Portugal was negotiating for it, he pledges himself to the jeweller for the immense sum. The beautiful bauble is then presented to the Queen for him, and she refusing it as a gift, permits the Cardinal to be her security, and promises to pay for it in monthly in- stalments. Take heart from this, ye purchasers of household furniture in the same manner, and call yourselves proud ! The seeming patriotism of the Cardinal causes his reconciliation with the Queen. But so ardently does be throw his heart, as well as his services, at her feet, that the Comtesse, seeing herself merely a tool in his hands, swears re- venge on both. The Third Act opens in the King’s Petit Trianon, a shop where he serves as apprentice to a locksmith. The con- trast between his enthusiasm over his trade, and his agony before the realm’s financial troubles and the scandals at- tacking his beloved Queen, is most deftly handled and original. His de- cision to strike out a large appropria- tion for the Queen compels her, with mingled regret and relief, to give up the necklace. She intrusts it to the Ccm- tesse to return to the Cardinal. That genial lady, however, decides to flee to England with the necklace, break it up and sell its five hundred diamonds one by one. To cover her flight she forges, with skilled assistance, a receipt from the jeweller for the Queen, anda receipt from the Queen for the jeweller. But this is not all. She must blast the Queen's reputation, too, so she writes a letter in her Majesty’s hand, appointing a secret rendezvous with the Cardinal at the Baths of Apollo. Then she persuades the unsuspecting Oliva to dress up like the Queen and meet the Cardinal. The third scene of this act represents the moonlight meet- ing. The love-sick De Charny, thinking he sees his adored Queen in the arms ao aa NR

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of a lover, is at once enraged and heart- broken, and demands the lover’s name. The Cardinal discloses his identity at the point of a sword and fights De Charny, whom he disarms. The Car- dinal’s servant stabs De Charny in the back, however, and he falls. The next act takes place in the Queen’s boudoir and her adjoining chapel. An- drée de Taverney who had seen both the Queen’s double and De Charny at the Baths of Apollo the night before, imagines that they are lovers, and hav- ing declared to the Queen her own love for De Charny, determines now to bury her grief in a convent. She bids the amazed Queen a cold farewell. The jeweller now comes to beseech a partial payment, and in an immensely strong scene the forged receipts are compared and the theft discovered. The Queen sends now for the Cardinal to question him. She freezes his ardent approaches and he, dumfounded at what he supposes is a change of attitude toward him, waxes wroth and recalls the rendezvous. He is further enraged and horrified when Marie Antoinette summons the King to hear the Car- dinal’s insults. The proud Cardinal, involved in per- plexity and anger, defies the King and leaves. This scene reached a very high plane of dramatic pow- er, and the whole act is a magnificent progression. De Charny, who had come, though still weak with his wound, to taunt his fallen idol with hypocrisy, has overheard this interview, and after the departure of the Cardinal and the King offers his ‘aid in unravelling the plot. The Queen, smothered with perplexed agony, turns to him as her rescuer, and he throws him- self on his knees before her to protest his devotion. The King, re-entering, dis- covers him, and wrung with the scandals constantly con- nected against his royal wife, MRS. POTTER 481 demands, suspiciously, an explanation. The Queen, to avoid even the appear- ance of unfaithfulness, desperately grasps at Andrée de Taverney as the straw to save her, and declares that De Charny was imploring her aid in securing him Andrée’s hand. Andrée, entering now to bid farewell to the King, is amazed at being handed over to be the wife of De Charny. In a desperate whispered appeal the Queen persuades her to ac- cede. The doors to the chapel now swing open, and the Cardinal enters in full regalia to say mass. The Queen’s hor- ror at the thought of kneeling for his blessing is spared by the entrance of officers, who arrest the Cardinal on the very steps of the altar. That worthy, duped, and as much sinned against as sinning, is led to the Bastille in a tre- mendous passion at the insult to his cloth and his noble line. The organ Mrs. Potter as Oliva. Photograph by Aimé Dupont, New York.

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482 MRS. POTTER erashes forth, the choir-voices peal, and the act is over. The last act is de- voted to the capture of the Coratesse by De Charny, who frus- trates the attempts to put Oliva out of the way, and drags the criminal and the un- witting tool before the court, to the com- plete vindication of the Queen. This is the plot shorn of many of its best points and baldly compressed. Once well under way the play flies bus- ily from climax to cli- max, from gorgeous pageant to ravishing splendor. It is a romantico - historical piece of the thrilling sort that no amount of lowly realism and analysis can displace in our affections. Mrs. Potter is more than capable. Her gracious dignity as the Queen, and her swaggering boister- ousness as the tom- boy Oliva, combined with her rare beauty so richly enhanced by resplendent costum- ery to score her a tri- umph. Mr. Bellew has made the com- paratively short role of the Cardinal one of such largeness and nobility of handling that it is no longer small. Aside from an infrequent lapse into that curious catarrhal snort Henry Irv- ing has infected most of our tragedians with, Mr. Bellew is altogether a great actor, in all that large term implies. William Redmund, Esq., was a most kingly Louis XVI, and Mr. Harry Saint Maur made much of his limited chances in Cagliostro. Miss Hosford was rather conscientious than inspired in the dif- ficult rdle of the Comtesse. Miss Perey A Marie Antoinette Walking-gown. Photograph copyrighted, 1895, by Falk, New York. Haswell, however, as Andrée was as win- some in her ways as she is sweet-faced and sweet-voiced. Mr. Hackett as De Charny was a little theatrical, but he had over- much lovelorn soliloquy to contend with. A most brilliant bit of acting was that of Mr. Wilson, who had about five lines and only one appearance as the Dress- maker; but he owned the stage and tickled the audience beautifully in that brief moment of existence. It is grate- ful indeed to see so small a part done with such finished cunning. Mr. Vernor Clarges as the irascible, yet humble, jeweller is also worthy of special praise.

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2 MMPOG EI Le A 8 E+ PASTELS IN SAGE-GREEN AND GOLD By George Montfort Simonson ““They have painted her as a shabby, sordid old creature—a Russell Sage in petticoats—a miserly, grasping woman, hard in her treatment of every one—even herself.” HESE harsh words appeared re- cently in a newspaper under the heading, “New Light on Hetty Green.” They not only insult that lady, but do gross injustice to Mr. Sage, who is neither shabby nor miserly. They also illustrate a popular tendency to compare a couple of eminent econo- mists to their mutual disadvantage. Friends of Mrs. Harriet H. Green and the Hon. Russell Sage say that the association of their names is as absurd as a comparison between the Statue of Liberty and Pike’s Peak. Both are great and famous, but there resem- blance ceases. The truth is that for a score of years it has been one of the traditions of the press to poke fun at this unfortunate pair. Any clever writer who could in- vent an amusing story illustrative of what New England people call “ near- ness,” has had no conscience about sad- dling it upon one or the other of them. Mrs. Green, being a woman, has some- times protested against the injustice of it, and the next day’s papers have de- scribed her language as_ extravagant. Mr. Sage, being a man and a stoic, has borne it in silence. Mr. Sage is now in his eightieth year. Mrs. Green is more than sixty. Is it not time to learn the real character of these two wonderfully successful finan- ciers while theyare still with us? Their industry, thrift, and financial integrity are virtues legitimately inherited from sturdy New England ancestors, who also bequeathed to them those very habits of orderly economy which pro- voke the risibles of reporters. That these virtues are worth having is proved from the fact that either Mrs. Green or Mr. Sage is able to lend—on satisfac- tory security, at a fair rate of interest— aggregates of cash capital that would stagger any great banker with a corpo- ration to draw on. The best authorities agree that Rus- sell Sage can produce, within a day or two, eight or ten million dollars in cash, if he chooses. The largest mortgage ever recorded on a single piece of prop- erty was for the million and a quarter of dollars that Mrs. Green advanced to Judge Hilton at the beginning of the recent hard times, when she demanded and obtained the marble Stewart build- ing as security. As for the total amount of their re- spective fortunes, it is idle to guess at it. The moderate statement that Mrs. Green is worth over thirty millions and Mr. Sage over forty millions is suffi- ciently impressive to turn the smile on the impecunious newspaper jester with- out accepting his estimate of eighty millions for each. Mrs. Green and Mr. Sage both con- Hon. Russell Sage. Copyright, 1895, by Rockwood, New York.

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484 trol enormous and rapidly increasing fortunes, and, the bulk of their business being in the sale of money, their prop- erty is more largely cash and negotia- ble paper than that of other million- naires. In this respect they are alike. But beyond this point it is only the Hetty Green and Russell Sage of fiction that resemble each other. THE HETTY GREEN OF FICTION A really good likeness of Mrs. Green has never appeared in print, so far as I know. Yet there have been many pict- ures of her. Solemn greed is written on these faces with their wolfish eyes and their coarse, mannish features. She is represented as wearing a dowdy black dress, which newspaper tradition says was purchased years ago at second- hand, and almost invariably a_ black leather reticule hangs over her arm. A picture of Hetty Green without this reticule would be like an image of St. Peter without his keys. Nobody would recognize it. In court, where she has appeared fre- quently of late, owing to a suit she has brought to compel a settlement of her father’s will, she is represented as ec- centric—now denouncing the opposing Mrs. Green a* the Present Time. PASTELS IN SAGE-GREEN AND GOLD Hetty Howland Robinson (Mrs. Green) at Nineteen. lawyers, and now dramatically kneeling in prayer. Sometimes the Sunday newspapers depict her as a sort of Wandering Jew, mysteriously moving from town to town in a vain effort to elude tax assessors and reporters. Such stories are apt to contain an interview with some board- ing-house keeper who has lost her gilded guest. “T never dreamed she was Hetty Green,” said Mrs. Boniface, haughtily adjusting her diamond brooch. ‘* We are very exclusive and desire no notoriety. But she spoke of knowing so many good people that she quite took me in. She called herself Mrs. Edward H. Green. I must confess that I thought it suspicious when I found she made her own bed. She sometimes sent my servants to the bank, with my permis- sion, and always paid them something for their trouble. None of my other boarders ever gave the servants anything. She had only two dresses, a green one and a black. One day a canvasser called to raise money for a church. Mrs. Green did not give him anything. She told me afterward that the churches were the worst of beggars, and that if she gave to one it would cross her luck, and she would have to give to all the others to straighten it out again. I thonght she was joking, but I see now that it was a part of her eccentricity. One day we were talking about wills ‘The lawisa good enough will for me,’ she said.” ** Really, Mrs. Boniface, you must do better

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PASTELS IN SAGE-GREEN AND GOLD than this or I shall not be able to use your in- terview,” said the reporter, nervously toying with his glass of claret. ‘‘Give me an exam- ple of her avarice.” ‘*Well, now that I think of it, she never would burn gas. She said she preferred can- dles.” Mrs. Green’s business methods are frequently described. It is said she would rather take the estimate of the policeman on the block as to the value of a piece of property than that of the most expert of appraisers, because she suspects the honesty of professional judges. She is represented as question- ing janitors and scrub-women about the number of tenants in office buildings on which loans are desired, and the state of repairs in such buildings. Mrs. Green’s family have all figured in print—a dependent husband suffer- ing with rheumatism, a crippled son, and an invalid daughter. THE MRS. GREEN OF REALITY While waiting to speak to the cashier of one of the soundest banks on lower Broadway recently, I was attracted by the appearance of a lady within the en- closure, who had his most engrossed at- tention. She was tall and stately in carriage, and when she spoke her coun- tenance brightened with intelligent ani- mation. Her features were delicate and refined, bespeaking good ancestors, and the quick laughter in the blue eyes re- lieved the lines of determination in her face. A little black bonnet decked with lilacs and jet aigrettes surmounted her abundant gray hair. Her dress of black crépon was about as neat and incon- spicuous as any could have been. She wore diamond screws in her ears, a dia- mond and an emerald ring on her hand, and an old-fashioned gold breastpin. She did not carry a reticule. “ Who was that lady?” I asked the cashier a moment later. “ Mrs. Green, one of the stockholders of this bank.” Subsequently I was introduced to Mrs. Green, who had just returned from her country seat near Bellows Falls, Vt., and was preparing to settle in a hired 485 house in New Jersey, not far from New York City. ““T have been misrepresented because I am engaged in a law suit,” said Mrs. Green. ‘Ithas been thirty years since my father died, and it seems to me that is long enough for the settlement of any estate. The executor of my father’s will offers to give me between three and four millions. I can prove that he owes me four millions more. But people say : “Oh, Mrs. Green is rich. Why can’t she be satisfied with three and a half millions ?’ “Tt reminds me of a saying of pa’s: «The poor can’t sue, and if the rich won't, who is to bring rogues to justice ?’ “Things have come to such a pass that now a woman is hired to march up and down Broadway masquerading as Hetty Green. I believe it is part of a plot to create the impression that I am insane.” “Tell-me something of your early life, Mrs. Green, before you became ab- sorbed in these cares.” “There is little to tell. I was an only child, you know. Here is a pict- ure of the house I came from—not such a poor-looking house, is it ?” As she spoke Mrs. Green went to a table and drew out a drawer full of such keepsakes as all women love. Se- lecting the photograph of a fine old stone mansion, she passed it to me. “That is the Robinson homestead at New Bedford, Mass., which I still own. My mother’s family were Quakers, and I was educated at a Quaker seminary in Massachusetts. I was a very differ- ent person when I graduated, from the worn old woman I am now. Here isa photograph of me then.” Mrs. Green here presented the por- trait of a bright and resolute young woman which appears on page 484. On the back of it were the words : Miss Hetty Howland Robinson. Taken on the way toa dinner at Saratoga Lake, given by ex-President Van Buren and his son John, to Lord Althorp. afterward Duke of Northumberland ; Lord Harvey ; Col- onel Searlet, afterward Lord Abinger, and Captain Tower of the Coldstream Guards. Matronized by Baroness Stoeckel, wife of the Russian ambassador.

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486 “T was married in July, 1867,” con- tinued Mrs. Green- ‘“ It was two years, one month, and eleven days after pa’s death. My husband, Mr. Edward H. Green, was the London partner of the firm of Russell & Sturgis, and I lived with him abroad till 1875. My son, Edward Howland Green, was born in England, and Mrs. Roger, of Hadlow Castle, one of the show castles of Eng- land, was his godmother. Since re- turning to this country I have been obliged to travel a good deal to attend to my business. I own property in all the principal large cities of the country, but my wealth has been greatly over- stated in the papers.” “In what form is most of your wealth, Mrs. Green ?” “Governments,” was the reply. Mrs. Green said that the lawsuit was killing her daughter Sylvia. Her one ambition was to get that matter settled before she died. “IT have been able to bear up in all my trials through my faith in God,” she said. “I have learned to trust God and not worry about small things.” “What church do you attend?” she was asked. “Oh, I do not attend any church. But I rather favor the Quakers.” Friends of Mrs. Green say she is wrapped up in her children, and that her ruling passion is to make them the richest pair in America. For this cause she denies herself many comforts. But she is not unjust in her dealings with others, and she has been known to do many deeds of kindness in a quiet way. She does not seek objects of charity, but when she encounters deserving cases, she puts them in the way of earn- ing enough to live on. No one knows better than Mrs. Green how small an income is necessary to sustain life. RUSSELL SAGE IN FACT AND FICTION Russell Sage has no children. He is devoted to business because it affords opportunities for the exercise of his faculties of judgment and diplomacy. Above all, it enables him to measure himself against other men and to show his supremacy in many a bloodless field. PASTELS IN SAGE-GREEN AND GOLD Such a man has to have a vent for his energies. ** Russell Sage is the least understood of living men,” said the photographer who took his latest picture. “He isa born fighter and a natural leader. Ap- proach him this way (stroking my shoulder gently downward) and he is your trusty friend. Approach him so (roughly rubbing the shoulder against the grain) and beware a mortal enemy. “The editor of a phrenological journal recently examined Mr. Sage’s head,” continued the photographic artist. ‘He felt and felt of Mr. Sage’s bumps, look- ing more and more serious as the exam- ination proceeded. At last he said : “«*T don’t know what to make of it, Mr. Sage. I cannot understand it at all. Your head shows none of the conforma- tions I had anticipated. I expected to find a regular unicorn for your bump of acquisitiveness, but you are absolutely without any bump there at all. Your judgment is large and your combative- ness is simply enormous, but of acquisi- tiveness you have not a trace.’ “The professor finally came to the conclusion,” continued the photogra- pher, “that Mr. Sage had no love for money, but simply pursued it inciden- tally while exercising his higher facul- ties.” The phrenologist mentioned is re- garded as the cleverest man in his pro- fession. Mr. Sage’s place in the world of fi- nance may be judged from the fact that he is a director in twenty-five great rail- road and telegraph companies. He is chairman of the finance and expense committees of the Manhattan Elevated Railroad, the Western Union Telegraph Company and others, where his rare ability to cut down expense renders his services invaluable. Many a tottering and unprofitable enterprise has been made to pay handsome dividends by Mr. Sage, not through an increase in busi- ness, but simply by preventing waste. Mr. Sage’s strong face and erect fig- ure are too well known to have been misrepresented in the public prints, but his genial temper and republican sim- plicity of living have not shielded him from the shafts of envious wit. When his name was proposed for membership

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in the Stock Exchange, one of the gov- erning committee rose and said that Mr. Sage was the smallest man for five cents and the largest for a hundred thousand dollars in all his acquaintance. “ He earned the beginning of his fort- une as a grocer’s clerk,” this gentleman is credited with saying, “and when he had amassed a million he came to New York and plunged into the vortex of Wall Street, but he never plunged in where it was over his head.” This sentiment was greeted with ap- plause from the brokers present. The kind of story that has made up the staple of newspaper fun at Mr. Sage’s expense has been of his haggling over the price of apples at corner stands and beating down vendors of straw hats from fifty cents to twenty-five on the streets, all of which are of course made out of whole cloth. They tell of his lin- ing up with clerks and office-boys at the Rector Street station of the Elevated Railroad, before the uniform rate of five cents was introduced, waiting for the clock to strike the beginning of rush hours, when a five cent fare was allowed instead of ten cents. Above all, Mr. Sage’s lunches have been talked about wherever newspapers are read. Mr. Sage is abstemious in his living. He is fond of home-made bread and home-cooked meats. He used to bring his lunches down to business in a little basket. When he became intimately associated with the late Jay Gould’s tremendous financial schemes he gave up bringing his lunch and went to the Western Union Building to eat with the Little Wizard at the stock- holders’ expense, where he has contin- ued to lunch ever since. This trifling circumstance has struck the reporters as worthy of frequent iteration. That was a combination that was in- vincible—Jay Gould’s dazzling and ag- gressive plotting, combined with Rus- sell Sage’s caution and cunning, backed with unlimited capital, and the income of a score of railroads. It was a pace that killed the arch schemer, but Mr. Sage stood it very well. Mr. Sage stands everything well. It is over thirty years since he came into “the street.” In those days Commo- dore Vanderbilt and Daniel Drew were PASTELS IN SAGE-GREEN AND GOLD 487 the central figures in finance, and the newspapers of that period used to tell the same stories about “ Ursa Major” Jacob Little which they now relate about Mr. Sage. What generations of heavy players he has seen rise and fall since John Morrissey and James Fiske figured in the Exchange! “To what do you attribute your suc- cess ?” Mr. Sage was asked recently. “I used to attribute it to a quick and accurate judgment,” replied the great capitalist. “I made up my mind prompt- ly, and when I had done so, I went ahead without caring what other people might think. But of late years I have come to rely almost entirely on my experi- ence.” Alas ! the fertile brain of Gould is no longer submitting novel plans to that trusty judgment, and Mr. Sage has fall- en into a money-making routine that lacks the spice of adventure. That is what he means by saying that he relies on experience of late years. The history of a Cesar is no place for arguments in favor of universal peace. A biography of Machiavelli should not paint the beauties of artlessness. I have no desire here to discuss the ethics of stock speculation or the sociological aspects of the tendency of great fort- unes to increase. Russell Sage has merely taken conditions as he found them, and, after a thousand desperate combats, stands at last champion of the financial arena. I submit that in its simplicity and rugged strength his character is not without elements of greatness that entitle him to a place in history. What that place shall be de- pends much upon the disposition he makes of his wealth when he is done withit. Great public benefactions would redeem his memory from all taint of selfishness and gild even his close econ- omy. Some indication of what may be ex- pected from Mr. Sage is to be seen in his recent expenditure of $100,000 for a memorial hall in connection with the Emma Willard Institute in Troy. That was not the act of a sordid soul. It only remains to record that Mr. Sage is married to one of the gentlest and kindest of women, with whom he lives comfortably in an unostentatious

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488 mansion on Fifth Avenue, and with whom he regularly attends the West Presbyterian Church on Forty-second Street, of which they are members. He has a country-seat at Cedarhurst, and he owns a number of fine horses, which he is very fond of driving. Mr. Sage is one of the most approach- able of men. I stood in his bare little outer office at 71 Broadway recently while a clerk was telling him what I wanted. The whitewashed walls were covered with doggerel rhymes and gro- tesque pictures in lead-pencil. The only furniture was a wooden settee. The outer office was separated from the clerks’ offices by a wooden partition, above which was an iron netting reach- ing to the ceiling. The partition was pierced with three tiny windows guard- ed by horizontal brass bars, suggestive of solitary confinement. These precau- tions were deemed necessary after the attempt on his life five years ago by Norcross, the bomb-throwing crank, an event which is kept fresh in memory by the suit of a broker’s clerk for damages on account of injuries sustained in the explosion. “Tf Russell Sage loved money for its own sake, he would settle with Laidlaw,” said a friend of the millionaire the other day. “ He prefers to spend more on the case than a settlement would cost, because he cannot bear to let any- one get the better of him.” Mr. Sage consented to be interviewed, and I was at once ushered into the pri- vate office, which was carpeted and neat- ly furnished. Mr. Sage bears his years well. It was hard to realize that the erect, brown-haired man before me was on the verge of four score years of age. His welcome was perfectly frank and cordial. It seems as strange to think of Rus- sell Sage making stump speeches as of Hetty Green the belle of an ex-Presi- dent’s dinner-party. I therefore asked him to relate some of his political ex- periences. Mr. Sage chuckled, drew his chair close up opposite me (he is just a trifle deaf), and with many a wink and droll grimace, tapping my knee betimes by way of punctuation, he proceeded as follows. PASTELS IN SAGE-GREEN AND GOLD RUSSELL SAGE AS A POLITICAL “ BOSS ” ‘“‘T was interested in politics long be- fore I was old enough to vote. I wasa Whig, and my politics were of the prac- tical kind. This was. when I ran a grocery in Troy. “When I was twenty-two years old I was a recognized political leader, the Richard Croker of Rensselaer County, which at that time constituted a single congressional district. I knew the ter- ritory perfectly, and had a personal ac- quaintance with the workers in each election district. “On election days I used to drive around in a wagon from one polling place to another distributing ballots and pasters. I handled all the moneys, and if there was any purchasing of ma- terial to be done, I knew where to find it, and I attended to it. I retained the leadership over twenty years, during part of which time I was a member of the Board of Aldermen of Troy. “T was chosen a delegate to the Na- tional Convention of 1848 to nominate a candidate for President on the Whig ticket. I was an out-and-out Henry Clay man, and I organized the other delegates from New York State in Clay’s interest, securing twenty-eight out of thirty-two votes. “Opposed to Mr. Clay was General Zachary Taylor, who had won renown in the war with Mexico, just closed. Many Northern men were opposed to General Taylor's nomination on account of his suspected Southern sympathies, for anti- slavery sentiment was already making itself felt in politics. The four delegates whom I had not been able to organize for Clay were rabid anti-slavery men, who thought the great Kentuckian too much a Southerner. “ Before the convention met I was ap- proached by representatives of General Taylor's canvass, and I frankly explained to them the feeling of the New York delegates. I finally consented to call with them upon the General’s brother to get his statement of the position of the candidate. “TI found Mr. Taylor an agreeable gentleman, much resembling the General in appearance. He received me cor- dially, and said that while it was true that

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General Taylor was friendly to South- ern sentiments, still, if nominated by the Whig party, he would accept the honor as a Whig, and if elected would con- sider himself bound to serve the whole country and not a section. “IT told Mr. Taylor thatI was satisfied of the fitness of General Taylor for the nomination, and although I still should vote for Henry Clay, I pledged myself loyally to accept the nominee of the convention and to work for his election, whoever he should be. “ Well, I voted for Henry Clay until it was certain that he could never be nominated. Then my twenty-eight dele- gates cast their votes for General Zach- ary Taylor as next choice, and the Gen- eral was nominated. “To my surprise, General Taylor's friends then cameto me and asked me to name the candidate for Vice-President. I hardly knew whom to suggest, but after consulting with the other New York delegates, I decided on the name of Millard Fillmore, of Buffalo, .with whom I was not acquainted personally. “*We never know what may happen,’ I said. ‘In case General Taylor should be removed, we want a good, clean man to succeed him. Mr. Fillmore is an hon- est man anda Northerner. His name on the ticket will keep in line the anti- slavery element of the party.’ “ And so I have had a hand in making the history of my country. Mr. Fillmore TERESITA TERESITA By Joel Benton Farr Teresita, of Love’s tender fame, And Beauty’s child in tint and form and tress; 489 was nominated and in due course elected. General Taylor did not live out half his term, and on July 9, 1850, Millard Fill- more succeeded him as thirteenth Presi- dent of the United States. “Tt was not till 1853 that I was sent to Congress, where I served a little more than three years.” For half an hour longer, while brokers and brokers’ clerks waited impatiently in the outer office, Russell Sage con- tinued to tell of his experiences in poli- tics before the birth of the Republican party. He told of a speech he made on the spur of the moment, during the Taylor campaign, that won him the favor of the future President. He told of visit- ing General Taylor in the White House in the interests of United States Senator Sewell, who was suspected of disaffection to the administration, and of the com- plete success of his mission. Such anec- dotes throw light on history, and Mr. Sage ought to publish them in an auto- biography. This article has already exceeded the limitations prescribed for it or I should give them here. But enough has been told about Mrs. Green and Mr. Sage to prove that both are infinitely superior to the characters of the same names portrayed in newspaper fiction, and that, when all things are considered, Mrs. Green might well deem it a compliment to be called “a Russell Sage in petti- coats.” Thou hast the power to kindle passion’s flame, And with thy smile reveal heaven’s blessedness. I look upon thy languishing, soft eyes, Thy maiden shyness and thy face so fair, As some rapt searcher, gazing in the skies, Sees some rich beauty wrought for his despair. Thy casual glance might make an anchorite Forsake his vows, viewing the love and grace Which glow with unimaginable light Upon the wonder of earth’s fairest face.

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A SCIENTIFIC REVENGE By Clarence fry in a casual way for some time, but an incident that occurred one evening at the Civilian Club caused him to make that gentleman’s case a special study. The two happened to be playing whist on opposite sides, and, thinking himself unobserved, Mr. Geof- fry had coolly pocketed a silver match- box belonging to Colonel Baker, after- ward denying all knowledge of its where- abouts. Mr. Geoffry had the reputation of be- ing a philanthropist and a man of un- blemished character, so nothing was said at the time ; but subsequently the matter was explained to the doctor by the statement that he was an inveterate practical joker. With no definite reason for so doing, Zandtt fell into the habit of jotting down Geoffry’s jokes in his note-book, as they occurred. At the end of the year the entries read as follows: “March 5th.—Mr. Geoffry borrows five thousand dollars from a brother broker—call loan. March 8th.— Denies the indebtedness absolutely. March 12th.—Returns the unused check, with the remark that he had found it in one of his pockets. “June 13th.—Mr. G. walks out of Judson’s office with Judson’s gold-head- ed cane. June 18th.—Swears he never took it. June 25th.—Judson finds the cane in Geoffry’s office, and G. denies all knowledge of how it came there. “October 1st.—Mr. G. walks out of Powell's house with Powell’s best over- coat on his arm. October 2d.—Denies he did. October 10th.—Mrs. Powell calls upon Mrs. Geoffry, finds the overcoat on the hall rack, shows Mrs. G. the name under the collar and takes it away with her. “November 10th.—Geoffry, as deacon of St. Hilda’s, collects something over a hundred dollars during the morning service, and, with the exception of a few nickels, places the amount in his pocket before taking the plate up to the chan- |) R. ZANDTT had known Mr. Geof- Herbert New cel. Three days before he had given ten thousand dollars to the church. * November 30th.— Mr. Geoffry’s fam- ily physician states that on the 17th of January preceding, Mr. G. was seized with a fit of dizziness upon the street, and fell against an iron railing, injuring his head so severely that an immediate operation was necessary to save his life ; that the operation was performed by a doctor who knew him, and happening to pass at the time, took him home in his coupé. Thanks to his strong consti- tution, however, he recovered rapidly, and since that time has been apparently none the worse for his injury. “ December 15th.—The Chemmerton Bank, of which Mr. G. is the most prom- inent director, is robbed of nearly half a million in such a daring and mysteri- ous way that the pone are unable to find a clew.’ On the day after the bank robbery, the doctor was glancing over these items when Colonel Baker dropped in. Be- fore he could pull the morning paper from his pocket, the doctor handed him the note-book and told him to look it over. As the Colonel read the last entry, he could not suppress an exclamation of surprise: “‘ Why, doctor, you have en- tered this affair of the bank in such a way that anyone might suppose it to re- fer directly to Geoffry! Really it al- most implies that you think i “Geoffry robbed the bank? Precise- ly. Furthermore, I can tell you just how he did it!” “That’s more than the police seem able todo. It’s a pretty serious charge, doctor! I don’t think I would repeat it if I were you.” “Well, I won’t. Ive no wish to pre- cipitate matters. But Ill wager any- thing you like that I’m right, and that the man is not responsible for his ac- tions ; that his injury of last January has developed, first, kleptomania, then bank robbery. . There’s your cause. Here are the progressive steps of the

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A SCIENTIFIC REVENGE 491 As the Colone! read the last entry he could not suppress an exclamation. effect. Go over them again and see what conclusions you draw.” “But there’s no reason why Geoffry should do a thing of this kind! He’s worth a couple of millions, at least. Besides, think of his high standing.” *“ All the more evidence in support of my theory that he is irresponsible. He never did these things before his head was injured. Here are the details of each so-called joke of his. With a man of less wealth and average reputa- tion an uglier name would have been applied to them. Then comes this grand steal, perpetrated by himself alone in such a clever way that he will have difficulty in escaping State’s pris- on.” “ How do you know he did it alone ? What is your theory, anyhow?” “ Conviction, if you please ; not theory at all. Mr. Geoffry came down to the bank yesterday, just before closing time, to get some papers from his box in the vault. While he was doing so, the pay- ing teller set the time-locks for nine o'clock this morning and went back to his desk for something, leaving Geoffry in the vault with the doors half-closed. This much appears in the statements of both Geoffry and the teller. “Before the teller returned to the vault, Geoffry changed the locks, set- ting them for 2 a.m., and the doors were closed without the change having been noticed. Some time after midnight Geoffry entered the basement through a hole in the wall behind a desk—the next building is vacant and belongs to him. He then sandbagged the watch- man, opened the vault by means of the regular combination—which a man of his position and sharpness could easily obtain—removed the money in bills of large denomination, placed dynamite between the inner and outer doors of

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492 A SCIENTIFIC REVENGE the vault, attached a time-fuse to it, and, after secreting the money in the adjoining building, had left before the explosion took place. “All this sounds simple enough, but see how craftily the scheme worked out after all! The experts state that it must have taken at least four hours to drill through those doors, which were blown from their hinges and were found with their edges badly split. The police say that they arrived within ten minutes after the explosion was heard, and that it was an impossibility to have removed such a bulky sum before they reached the building. They have found the hole through the basement wall, and also muddy foot-tracks in the yard at the rear of the vacant building ; but no traces beyond that yard. “The only two men known to have had the combination are the cashier, who has been laid up with the grippe for several days, and the paying teller, who spent the entire night at the presi- dent's house. Up to this time no one has discovered that the vault doors were not drilled, but the Chief of Po- lice was down there this morning, and I predict that Geoffry will be arrested in- side of a month in an attempt to remove the money from that building.” If the doctor, reasoning purely from his knowledge of human nature in gen- eral, and Geoffry’s case in particular, had been an eye-witness of the crime, he could not have described it more correctly, as the evidence showed when the case came to trial; and it was only owing to his expert testimony that Geofiry was incarcerated in the State Insane Asylum instead of the Peni- tentiary. His wife and family were simply over- whelmed. With their implicit belief in his integrity and fine character the af- fair seemed utterly incomprehensible. Society in general, however, took little stock in the insanity theory, and was as bitter in its denunciation of this former- ly respectable citizen as it had been loud in his praises. But the world is too big and its interests are too varied to remember one man for any length of time. Geoffry was forgotten almost as soon as the doors of the asylum had closed upon him ; forgotten by all ex- cept his family and one man, who found the case more and more inexplicable each time he thought of it. This man was Dr. Massingham Zandtt, who, after winning an enviable reputation at the bar, had relinquished law for the pro- fession of medicine. Up to the time of the bank robbery. he had considered the cranial injury a sufficient cause for all of Geoffry’s ac- tions. But after a careful examination, before the trial, it appeared to have been much less serious than he had been given to understand ; assuming, of course, that the operating surgeon had used proper care in thoroughly cleans- ing the wound of bone splinters and extraneous matter. This man had introduced himself as “Dr. Morgan,” and the skilful way in which he had patched the skull with a silver plate, testified to his exact knowl- edge as a surgeon. Beyond admiring his work, Zandtt had given little thought to Dr. Morgan, until Mrs. Geoffry mentioned one or two circumstances which surprised and startled him. It seems that when the doctor brought Geoffry home in his coupé, Mrs. G. noticed a slight odor of chloroform about them, but had seen no trace of blood upon her husband’s head. Then, although he had distinct- ly claimed to be an old friend of Geof- fry’s, Morgan had never called after he fully recovered consciousness, and Geof- fry was positive that he knew no one of that name. It has been said that Doctor Zandtt began his career as an attorney. Asa matter of fact he had been considered one of the keenest criminal lawyers in the country, and it was the constant discovery of crime in the most unex- pected places that led him to abandon the profession before he lost all faith in humanity. His medical experience, however—especially in cases of heredity —had opened his eyes to the vast un- derlying causes that are largely respon- sible for the crookedness in mankind, and had supplemented his knowledge of human nature to a marvellous degree. Geoffry’s case began to have a strange fascination for him. The man himself, a legally convicted maniac, dangerous to society ; his family branded for the 4

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es A SCIENTIFIC REVENGE 493 remainder of their lives with the stigma of his crime; con- fidence in other pub- lic men shaken be- cause of this amaz- ing exposé in their very midst ; and all on account of a slight fracture caused by collision with an iron railing! Zandtt couldn’t get the matter out of his mind. He spent several even- ings looking into the subjects of cranial development and surgery. Then he hunted up the trained nurse who had taken care of Mr. Geoffry. Miss Raynor was easily found at the hospi- tal She remem- bered the case per- fectly, but could not describe the opera- tion because, owing to Doctor Morgan’s rapid and skilful work, it had been finished before her arrival. The use of the silver plate indi- cated that the bone must have been severely fractured, but she had seen no splinters lying about with the clippings of hair. She was also surprised at the unusual absence of bleeding from the injury. She couldn’t give the doctor’s ad- dress. He had called upon five succes- sive mornings — though he had not considered it necessary to waken the patient from his heavy sleep during the last three visits—but had failed to men- tion the number of his office when he left. Mrs. Geoffry stated that she had never received a bill for his services. Miss Raynor described him-as being short, thin, dark, with a grayish-black beard ; as wearing pebble glasses and \ with a slight foreign accent—- i lian, as near as she could guess. She He spent several evenings looking into the subject. further stated that he had described to her several other delicate operations he had performed, among them one of re- storing the cervical vertebre to their normal position in a broken neck, there- by saving the patient’s life, after two em- inent physicians had pronounced the case hopeless. Zandtt finally decided to have an in- terview with Dr. Morgan—for profes- sional and other reasons—but the more he looked for him, the more this seemed a matter of difficulty. There were eight of him in the City Directory, none of whom proved upon investigation to fit the Geoffry combination. The task of personally interviewing every other physician in town seemed one of the more cumbersome ones which

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494 might be dispensed with until simpler measures failed, so Zandtt next turned his attention to the published data on vertebrate injuries. He found records of several attempts to restore dislocated necks to their normal position, but the jamming of the spinal cord, which invariably ac- companied this injury, had always re- sulted in paralysis and the death of the patient. Finally, in a French treatise of recent date, he found mention of a successful operation upon the cervical vertebree which had been performed by a certain Dr. Spinozzi, of Ajaccio, Cor- sica. The account tallied in every de- tail with that given by Miss Raynor, and as Zandtt copied the memoranda in his book, the dormant suspicion in his mind became a certainty. The next evening, he invited Mr. Perry, a former partner of Mr. Geoffry's, to dine with him at one of the clubs ; and imperceptibly led the conversation around to his old associate’s case. After they had gone over the evidence produced at the trial, the doctor said : “To anyone who believes in an ever- watchful Providence, it must seem un- just and unreasonable that so fine a man as Geoffry should have been forced into crime and misery through an ap- parently temporary injury he was pow- erless to avert. From all accounts he seems to have led an unusually blame- less life. In fact everyone says that be- fore his arrest he hadn’t an enemy in the world.” “ M—m—m—m—m—-vwell, I don’t know that I would put it as strongly as that. Even the squarest man on Change is liable to corner the market in self-de- fence at times, and someone has to suf- fer. Geoffry has been a very successful operator, and though he never inten- tionally injured any man, there may be a few who feel rather sour against him. I don’t suppose one could call them © actual enemies, however, because there are too many ups and downs in the market. But there was one man, years ago, who would have killed Geoff. if he could have done so safely.” “No! he?” “ Well, his name was Jukes ; an Eng- lishman who was very much in love You surprise me! Who was A SCIENTIFIC REVENGE with Geoffry’s first wife—you knew she was English, did you not? No? Well, she was; and this fellow Jukes used to follow her everywhere. His attentions were so marked that people in London hinted at an engagement between them. When asked the direct question, once, Jukes answered in such a way as to compromise her. “For various reasons she fairly loathed the man; said that he was no Englishman at all, but a little Italian adventurer, and asked Geoffry—to whom she really was engaged—to make him apologize. This he did in his own original way. He publicly horse- whipped Jukes on Rotten Row. Nat- urally the beggar swore to get even with him ; and some years after he be- came a member of the Stock Exchange, Jukes turned up here with a large amount of money, and started in to wipe him out of the market. “ Geoff., being forewarned, put up a deal which swamped the fellow ; and he disappeared, nearly ruining some of his customers in the crash. It was always a mystery to me how Jukes secured the backing he seemed to have. Several of his accounts were heavy ones. I re- member one in particular, a certain Doctor Spinozzi, who now operates through Brown & Kretchmar. e “What! Dr. Spinozzi?” “Yes. I see you know him. He must have been nearly cleaned out when Jukes went under, but he seems to have recovered and has been very successful lately. You've heard of him profession- ally, I presume ?” “Why—yes. He’s one of the most able surgeons in the country. In fact, if the reports are correct, he performs operations which no other man would dare attempt.” “Don’t say? speculator, too.” “Does he live here ? his address ?” “T can easily get it for you. Hi, waiter! waiter! Bring me a _ Direc- tory, please. Ah! thanks. Now then, let’s look under the S’s. Here we are : ‘Raoul Vincente Hippolyte de Spi- nozzi, 8.D., F.R.L1., 147 ——~ Street.’” “TI think Ill make a mem. of that. May want to consult him some time. Well, he’s a dandy Do you know

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A SCIENTIFIC REVENGE Let’s see—you were saying that Jukes never turned up after his smash?” “Never, and that was over seven years ago. The first Mrs. Geoffry died the year before that. Oh, he’s probably dead and buried. We should have heard from him if he were alive.” As Zandtt walked home from the club he smiled grimly over the idea of Jukes being “ dead and buried,” and felt that it would be a great satisfaction to see the man hanged. Several weeks later Raoul Vincente Hippolyte de Spinozzi, $.D., F.R.LL, wis arrested on his doorstep and un- ceremoniously hustled off to prison, where he learnei that he had been in- dictel before the Grand Jury. He readily obtained bail, and when his pre- liminary hearing was held he waived examination in high dudgeon. It was with an air of conscious im- portance that he took his seat in the court on the morning of the trial of the case of “‘ The People and Henry Geof- fry against Raoul Spinozzi, alias Dr. James Morgan.” It soon became whis- perel about the room that this distin- guished-looking gentleman, quietly though richly dressed, was one of the greatest surgeons in the profession, and many respectful glances were directed toward him. Presently Mrs. Geoffry appeared, ac- coinpanied by Dr. Zandtt and Mr. Perry. Mrs. Geoffry and Perry both started slightly when they looked at Dr. Spi- nozzi. The first witnesses called were two men who had seen Mr. Geoffry fall upon the sidewalk in the fit of vertigo. They testified that he was at least six feet from any iron railing when he fell, that his head had not even come in contact with the pavement as far as they could judge, and that he seemed to be recov- ering consciousness when Dr. Morgan started home with him in his coupé. Mrs. Geoffry testified as to the odor of chloroform and the absence of blood about her husband when they reached the house. Then she described how she had prepared a room for the operation which Dr. Morgan assured her was nec- essary in order to save her husband’s lif 495 Miss Raynor repeated her story sub- stantially as she had told it to Dr. Zandtt. The two physicians who had testified upon Geoffry’s trial then took the stand and explained minutely the location of those portions of the brain which con- trol conscious action, so far as surgical and phrenological science have been able to determine. They detailed the evidence in support of the accepted the- ory that the qualities of acquisitiveness and secretiveness belong to that portion of the human brain about an inch above, and slightly back of, the perpendicular centre of the ear; and gave their pro- fessional opinion to the effect that any abnormal development of, or undue pressure upon, the gray matter in that particular spot would result in its in- creased activity even to the extent of a criminal propensity. The drift of this testimony now be- came apparent to everyone, and Dr. Zandtt’s evidence was awaited with in- tense interest. He took the chair, pro- duced his memorandum-book, and, be- ginning with the match-box incident, detailed his conclusions regarding Mr. Geoffry’s case, step by step, clearly and convincingly. He spoke slowly but so distinctly that those in the rear of the room heard every word, and when he finally stated Mr. Geoffry’s injury to have been the re- sult not of an accident but of a deliber- ate and diabolical crime instigated by revenge, a gasp of horrified comprehen- sion came from every throat. There was also the feeling that more startling disclosures were to come, as he stated under oath that some foreign substance had been inserted behind the silver plate in Mr. Geoffry’s head, pressing up- on the brain and causing the criminal actions of which he had been guilty. Mr. Perry was the next witness called. He told the story of Mr Geoffry’s early relations with Jukes, in England; the horsewhipping in Rotten Row, and the financial battle on the Stock Exchange subsequent to the first Mrs. Geoffry’s death. Spinozzi’s nerve was magnificent. He could not yet see how it was possible to connect him with the case in a posi- tive way—a black beard, edged with

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496 gray, changes a man’s appearance won- derfully. But when Mrs. Geoffry, Miss Raynor, and two other witnesses took the stand and positively identified him as Doctor Morgan, he began to tremble. Perry then identified him as Jukes, and when Zandtt again took the chair, his coolness almost left him. First the doctor told of a visit which he had made to the office of Dr. Spi- nozzi a few days after his conversation with Mr. Perry at the club. This part of his testimony was as follows: “T learned that Dr. Spinozzi usually spent his forenoons in the Museum of Natural History, collecting details for a treatise he was writing upon spinal affections ; and finally I called at his house when I knew he was likely to be away. “T told the servant that I wished to consult the surgeon upon a very complicat- ed case and would wait a while for him. The office and study were in an extension at the rear of the parlors. As soon as the maid left me, I stepped noiseless- ly into them and began to look about me. The walls were covered with book-cases, shelves con- taining medicines, and cabinets full of me- mentos relating to dif- ferent operations which the surgeon had per- formed. * After a hasty glance through these cabinets my eye fell upon a small glass jar contain- ing a circular piece of skull-bone, a piece of parchment upon which something was written in Italian, and a small layer of brown fungus —such as is used in the dressing of wounds— with an oval piece cut from its centre. As this was exactly what I had expected to discover, I made quick work of A SCIENTIFIC REVENGE finding another jar of the same kind as the first, and arranging a substitute, which I replaced in the cabinet. I then called the maid, told her that I could not wait any longer, and left the house.” The witness exhibited the little glass jar in question, containing the circular piece of skull, wantonly taken from the victim’s head by means of the trephine, without the slightest excuse or necessity for so doing ; the piece of fungus, from which an oval patch had been cleanly cut ; and lastly, the scrap of parchment, dated January 17, 1893, and bearing, written upon it in Italian, the song of the “ Rim- becco,” the warning chant of the Corsi- can vendetta. Here the doctor had Spinozzi’s coach- man called, and made him testify posi- tively that the glass jar had been in a cabinet in the surgeon’s office, and “This was exactly what | had expected to discover.’’

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A SCIENTIFIC REVENGE 497 furthermore, that upon several occa- sions, while driving his employer, he had been ordered to follow slowly after Mr. Geoffry when he was seen upon the side- walk. Then Zandtt, after an impressive pause of several seconds, addressed the court. “ Your Honor,” he said, “ and Gentle- men of the Jury, the evidence thus far produced in this case has been largely circumstantial. It would be a grave matter to convict a man of Dr. Spi- nozzi’s high standing upon the testimony as it now stands, especially of such a fiendish crime as this. But, gentlemen, I hold in my hand the one absolutely convincing proof that this man, upon whom the greatest honors have been showered in recognition of his marvel- lous skill, is a monster in human shape ; a creature of such merciless vindictive- ness that the crimes of the Borgias pale before his. “ Simple murder of the man he hated was too clumsy, too soon over with, to be worthy of his attention. Instead, he patiently, relentlessly, familiarizes him- self with his victim’s habits and weak- nesses ; day by day, month by month, year by year, until, when the long-ex- pected moment arrives, he calmly and deliberately tampers with the brain, the soul which God gave to one of his best- loved creatures, and seals up in his head a silent, destructive something which first blasts his good name before his fel- low-men and then—behind the walls which brand him as a shameful and a dangerous thing—resistlessly forces him on to madness and death. “Look! Doctor Spinozzi. A little, oval piece of sodden fungus, which I took from Mr. Geoffry’s head three days ago in the presence of his Honor and these eminent physicians. Fit it into the piece found in your glass jar, and then deny if you can—deny if you dare—that one was cut from the oth- er!” The silence in court was profound. All eyes were turned upon Spinozzi who had sunk back in his chair, deadly pale. Suddenly, while officers and all were stupefied by the horror of Zandtt’s dis- closures, he drew a stiletto from some- He drew a stiletto. where inside his waistcoat and sprang at the policeman nearest him. There was a muffled cry of pain, and the people scrambled right and left to get out of the desperate man’s way, blocking the efforts of other officers to secure him. It has always been a mys- tery how Spinozzi succeeded in eluding the efforts to capture him, but he never was seen in the country again. Mr. Geoffry recovered slowly from Zandtt’s operation, and in a few months was pronounced absolutely sane. He is to-day a trusted and respected member of society, as in former years; while in the city of Moscow there is a certain Italian physician who seems haunted by some terrible and mysterious fear. It is said that the sight of a silver match- box, such as may be carried in one’s waistcoat pocket, will afflict him with an abject terror painful to witness.

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THE VATICAN AND THE PEACE OF EUROPE By Jesse Albert Locke O one man occupies to-day so large a share of the whole world’s thought as does the present Pope, Leo the Thirteenth. None, certainly, is more written about or talked about. His every utterance is cabled imme- diately around the globe, and when the fertile brains of the cablegram makers in Europe have no genuine material at hand, they invent despatches about his probable actions or intentions. This is partly due, no doubt, to the great pub- lic interest in the man himself, a man generally recognized as one of the great intellects of our age, an accomplished statesman, and the possessor of a most attractive personal character, As the head, also, of a religious body comprising some two hundred millions or more of adherents, who look upon him with reverence and affection, any important movement he may make is naturally a news item worth noting. But a further cause may be found in the present state of Europe. It is a state of unrest and disturbed equilib- rium. A general feeling prevails that we may be on the eve of great changes. A panic of alarm alternates with the re- lief of reassurance. War scares, inter- national complications and jealousies that threaten to flame out into bellig- erent action, ruinbles of social revolu- tion, the unexpected strength developed by anarchistic and subversive associa- tions at the polls—all these things seem about to plunge the Continent into tur- moil and chaos, when the clouds pass away, at least for a while. In the re- action, seeing that all things continue as they were, some are inclined to doubt that there has been any real cause for apprehension. But though the present status quo may continue for some time, possibly, no one can doubt that Europe has before her some difficult problems as yet unsolved. The difficulties are partly political and partly social. The map of Europe has not yet been drawr and colored for the last time. Germany and France, armed to the teeth and holding themselves tense, glare at each other across their borders. Both feel that a final trial of strength must come. Both fear the contest, yet both realize the necessity of constant readiness for it. It is likely to be a fiercer and bloodier conflict than that of 1870, for the combatants are now more evenly matched. France has made her army equal in strength and discipline to that of her great rival. The irritation and bitterness of defeat still gall the French spirit. The Triple Alliance has its mutual interests and jealousies. England, with her world-wide aggrandizement, and Russia, ambitious to acquire more, watch each other like crouching lions. A mere spark—some minor quarrel of minor states — may start the blaze. And, peace once broken, on what sides will the various powers range them- selves? What picture will a change of their complicated and kaleidoscopic re- lations to one another produce? No one can tell. There are those who base their confi- dence in the continued peace of Europe on the better knowledge of internation- al interests which prevails in modern times. This is a commercial age, and men realize more and more how great are the losses in any war compared with the possible gains. War-taxes drain the resources of the people, and trade is hampered, if not destroyed. Quarrels of nations are costly things, and the burden of them falls on the people. All this has its effect. War is not hastily declared. Nation is not pitted against nation at the mere caprice of a sovereign. But though consideration for com- mercial interests may oftentimes restrain the passion for war, what of a war waged to maintain those interests ? Such a conflict might have some other ostensible purpose, but, in reality, it would be a struggle for existence, which might prove far more unrelenting than any war of medieval kings. Moreover, our age, though largely

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utilitarian, is not wholly so. High- strung national pride which feels the sting of defeat as a stain upon its honor, is by no means dead. Especially is this true in France, where the degree to which it is carried seems to us bombas- tic. But it is a necessary element to consider in the European problem, for, at some inflammable moment, it may make the whole French people clamor for war, regardless of consequences. But what has all this to do with the Pope? The Vatican—as the Papacy is generally styled in connection with its relations to the political powers—is a factor that must be taken into consid- eration in any attempt to understand the political situation in Europe. The Church is of course, in its nature, non- political, having ends and purposes dis- tinct from those of the State. But the American ideal of entire separation of Church and State, each having complete independence in its own sphere, has not yet been realized in Europe. Nor can it be at present. Even if the Church desired a different state of affairs, she could not have her will at present, simply because the State will not let her alone. In France, for example, the government insists upon interfering with purely ecclesiastical matters in a way that seems to an Ameri- can quite beyond its rightful powers, and which certainly leaves the Church no chance to ignore political questions. But the American ideal and its suc- cess in practice have made some con- verts in Europe. A notable one is Pope Leo himself. His acute mind has been able to see how much better it is for the Church not to depend on the favor of princes or governments in any way, but to be entirely free. The help of the State means at least partial control by the State, and the latter tends always to obscure the true end and spiritual character of the Church. So, when the Republic of Brazil was formed, the Pope urged the Brazilian Bishops to obtain, if possible, the same complete separa- tion of Church and State as exists in the United States. But in Europe the Vatican still has its very definite relations with the pol- itical powers, and its own definite in- fluence. Is that influence great enough THE VATICAN AND THE PEACE OF EUROPE 499 to be an important element in the prob- lem, or is it comparatively insignificant ? Two recent writers of ability, who, as belonging to another faith, can have no religious bias in favor of Rome, have come to the same conclusion, viz. : that the Papacy has a greater influence in the world to-day than ever before in its his- tory. Captain Gambier, of the English Navy, says: ‘Reason as we may, blink facts as much as we like, the Pope, in the silence of his austerely furnished room, with his simple fare of pasta and cold water, is a power, in shaping the destinies of the world, greater than the Czar, greater than Emperor William, greater than all the foreign secretaries who fret and fume on the political stage in the length and breadth of Europe.” M. Monod, the celebrated French Protestant divine, writes: ‘Not the least noteworthy of the features of the present time is to see an institution, whose survival seemed a few years ago an anachronism, a relic of a bygone age, suddenly endowed with a fresh infusion of vigorous life and popularity, adding the radiance of youth and hope to the aureole of antiquity and glorious mem- ories with which the centuries had crowned it.” A rapid survey of Europe confirms this view. Twenty-five years ago, when Victor Emmanuel entered Rome, the Papacy was supposed by many to have become a moribund institution. The loss of the temporal power was consid- ered its death-knell. Germany undertook to reckon without it and inaugurated the Kulturkampf. The State was to take the place of the Pope and control the internal affairs of German Catholics, the appointment of Bishops, etc. But Bis- marck has failed and has acknowledged his defeat. The moral influence of the Pope has proved greater than even the Iron Chancellor with the power of a great state at his back, and one by one the May laws, so odious to German Catholics, have been repealed. In France the stability of the present government owes much to Leo XIII. By urging French Catholics to support the Republic loyally, he has given the last blow to the hopes of the Royalists. England cannot afford to ignore him. England has its Irish question, and no

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500 THE VATICAN AND THE PEACE OF EUROPE one has a greater influence over the Irish people than the Pontiff of Rome. The Irish are distinguished for passionate attachment to their religion and devo- tion to their clergy. When the Church condemned some of the extreme methods of the Home Rule agitation as bordering on barbarism, a few hot-headed leaders were inclined to resist; but the vast majority accepted the decision loyally. The Conservative party, just returned to power, realizes the importance of concil- lating the Irish clergy, and has prom- ised substantial gifts from the govern- ment toward establishing a Catholic University. Russia has just given new recogni- tion to the moral power of the Papacy. The Czar has issued a ukase establishing a permanent legation at the Vatican. It will consist of a Resident Minister and a Secretary. Sixteen thousand rubles will be supplied annually for its maintenance. Even in Italy, where the monarchy thought it had the Pope to reckon with no longer when it took his temporal possessions, the growing power of Rome’s spiritual head is manifest. Crispi has tried to conciliate the Church, that he may have its help against the rising tide of anarchy and socialism which threatens the security of the throne. Because the Pope withheld his approval of the participation of Catho- lics in the National elections, not one- half of the qualified voters exercised their right. When he gave his permis- sion to take part in the recent munici- pal elections in Rome, all the Catholic candidates proposed, thirty-two in num- ber, were elected. Each one of these candidates obtained between seven and eight thousand votes, whereas Crispi himself, when the Catholics abstained from voting, could rally to his name only nine hundred voters. This brings us to the crucial ques- tion of the temporal power. The influ- ence of the Vatican is international in extent. And the greater it is, the more will European statesmen desire to con- trol it or to use it for their own ends, if they possibly can. Yet, from its very nature the Papacy is a power which must keep itself neutral. It has its subjects in all lands, and, while equally friendly to all governments, it cannot sacrifice its spiritual ends by becoming the tool or the exclusive ally of any one power. That is exactly the explanation of the desire for the restoration of the temporal power. Much writing on this subject is wide of the mark. Some suppose that the Pope’s aim is to become a great secular potentate in addition to wielding spirit- ual supremacy, and some even fancy that his object is to be able to spread his religion by force of arms, Moham- medan fashion. But the purpose of the temporal power is very simple. Its de- sign is to guarantee the Pope freedom from coercion or attempted control by any one government. Then he can be, as he should be, neutral ; often an arbi- trator, but never a partisan ; and free to order the spiritual affairs of the Church throughout the whole world without any hindrance from the secular powers. An example of how the Pope might be hampered, under the present condi- tions, in acting for the general good, is furnished by his call to French Catho- lics to support the Republic. That action was displeasing to Germans, who felt that it might lend encourage- ment to the growth of democratic senti- ment all over Europe. Germany, there- fore, would not unnaturally be inclined to egg on its ally, Italy, to harass and annoy the Pope with threats in order to deter him from fulfilling his purpose. The temporal power, then, is impor- tant to the Papacy, that its freedom of action may be secured. But it is not ab- solutely essential. For in the last quar- ter of acentury, since it was taken away, the influence of the Vatican, as all ad- mit, has enormously increased. Will it ever be restored? Will France and Russia, in jealousy of the Triple Alli- ance, combine to give back Rome to the Pope in return for his moral sup- port against the allied powers? So the Italians once feared, but there is small likelihood of such an event. Will Italy herself be compelled to make the restoration? Italy is in a de- plorable condition. Absurd and over- weening national ambition has saddled a groaning country with an army and a navy of utterly disproportionate size. The monarchy does not feel itself safe. It would never wholly abdadon Rome—

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THE VATICAN AND THE PEACE OF EUROPE Rome is a name to conjure with—but a compromise might easily be effected. The Italian government could cede to the Pope the small portion of Rome on the Vatican side of the Tiber with a nar- row strip of land running to the sea. Italy would lose nothing of moment, the Pope would gain the independence he desires. It would make no difference how small the territory is, so long as it is made neutral ground by inter- national agreement. The necessity for a reconciliation be- tween the Italian Government and the Vatican is patent. Without it, United Italy will always have an element of in- security. The latest rumor, started by a London newspaper, is that Italy will give the Pope a small piece of territory and guaranteed independence, in return for a billion of dollars, which are to be raised by an appeal to Catholics through- out the world. The story isimprobable enough to be somewhat absurd, and yet it is not without its significance. It takes two to make a bargain, and the Pope could scarcely be supposed to agree to this one. Not only would the raising of such a sum of money by vol- untary subscriptions be a wellnigh im- possible task, but who is to guarantee that the Italian Government would be true to its promises? Victor Emman- uel signed a treaty securing to the Pope the possession of Rome, but when he saw a chance to succeed he broke it. Since then the Italian Government, in defiance of natural équity, has confis- cated not only vast amounts of ecclesi- astical property, but also $400,000,000 that had been bequeathed by private donors for private charities, hospitals, asylums, etc. Lastly, though a conces- sion might be made as to the amount of territory given back—for the amount is not at all essential— the Pope is not likely to concede, as a matter of princi- ple, his right to what was taken from him by force, to the disregard of treaties and promises. Yet, while the legitimate revenues of Italy are rapidly decreasing, the sup- plies gained by the seizure of private property have about come to an end, and bankruptcy threatens the nation, unless some new expedient is devised. Another thing that has increased the 501 influence of the Vatican is the social unrest of the times. The Pope’s sym- pathy with democracy is well known. His encyclical on labor has shown that his heart is with the people. He is pro- gressive enough to see that, however long the present order may last, aristoc- racy and monarchy are really doomed. The power of the future is with the peo- ple, and (whatever form it may take) some readjustment of existing social conditions must be brought about. At the same time the feeling has deep- ened throughout France, Italy, and Ger- many in particular—that only the re- vival of the religious spirit can furnish a conservative power equal to the task of curbing the violent and radical social- ism which would bring havoc if it won its way. The Pope desires peace. It is his ob- ject to maintain it with all the influence at his command. When it is broken, religion suffers. He has several times in recent years been made the arbitrator between nations in their disputes. His efforts for religious peace and unity among Christians have done much to allay the spirit of sectarian animosity. His power is a unique one. His millions of spiritual subjects give him a free and voluntary obedience, and their rever- ence for him is bound up with that which is most sacred, their faith and service of God. He wields therefore a power of moral suasion which has no counterpart in the world. Such a great and beneficent power working for peace is a hopeful augury for the future amidst many gloomy signs on the horizon. Change will come. Progress is inevitable. Democ- racy will dominate the future. But this great power of a Church essentially dem- ocratic in its own nature, will help with wise conservatism to hold back the rush- ing waters and make the flood move slowly on. It will prevent the torrent from breaking the dam of human pa- tience and endurance to run again in rivers of blood, as in the French Revolu- tion, and only to be succeeded by re- actions toward despotism. The Vati- can to-day holds the key of the situa- tion. Europe’s peace depends in very great measure upon Leo XIII., and Leo is above all a man of peace.

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—— ee A TOURNEY AT TRUTH-TELLING A DOMESTIC TRAGEDY IN TWO SCENES By Robert Treat Whitehouse Scene L—Dining-room of the Marvin family. Table set for dinner with two chairs. Mrs. Marvin seated at the table, eating dinner alone. Mr. Marvin enters hastily and apologeti- cally, and takes the vacant chair opposite Mrs. Marvin. Looks at his watch. Mr. M. Quarter of seven! Goodness, dear, I didn’t realize it was so late. |No response.| Ive been tremendously busy this afternoon and my last client kept me till long aftersix. [Still no response. | [He sighs.| The result is, I am com- pletely fagged out. [He serves himself and begins to eat nervously. | Mrs. M. [With ominous sweetness. | Poor boy, have they kept you hard at it constantly all the afternoon ? He. |Brightening.| I should say they had. I haven’t had sucha rush since last month. She. Now, John Marvin, I’ve caught you. I went down to your office to- night at a quarter of six to walk home with you, and there wasn’t a person there except the typewriter, and she said you were over in Mr. Jordan’s of- fice, across the way, talking politics. This Copyright, 1895. Acting rights reserved. For permission to use, address The Godey Company. is the fourth time this week that you have come home to dinner more than half an hour late, all fagged out, and with this same story to tell, and I am tired to death of it. You are getting to be a confirmed old whopperizer with- out any conscience, and I should think you would be ashamed of yourself. Why don’t you tell the truth and say that you got to talking and telling stories and forgot all about dinner or didn’t care? He. [In a patient, injured tone.| But, my dear, you know you went shopping yesterday forenoon and were ten min- utes late to lunch yourself. And, be- sides, I am telling the truth. To-night I just dropped into Jordan’s office a minute to borrow a match and —— She. No, no, you needn’t try to ex- plain or to accuse me. My excuse at least has the merit of being true, but as for you, I shan’t believe a word you say after this. I don’t believe you men can tell the truth if you try. He. [Resignedly.| Very well, my dear, just as you choose. I stand con- victed of chronic perjury. But I will go one step farther than you and assert that you women, and—to be personal,

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= A TOURNEY AT TRUTH-TELLING 503 since you seem to be dealing in person- alities yourself to-night—you in particu- lar, madam, cannot tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, for one single day. At any rate, if all women did, society would come to an end in the space of a few short months. She. Sir, you add insult to injury. If you have the courage of your convic- tions, prepare to stand by them. I chal- lenge you to a twenty-four hour contest. He. Very well—lIaccept. What shall the stakes be ? She. Oh, anything you like. He. Well, let me see. How will this do? The one who first fails between now and to-morrow evening at this time to tell the truth, shall agree to find no fault whatever with the other for a year to come. She. You would have everything to win and nothing to lose by that ar- rangement, my dear; but I will agree. He. Shake hands then, and swear it. She. [Dramatically grasping his hand. ] I swear. He. {Aside.] I will win on this thing if I have to give away state secrets. [Aloud.] Remember now—the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Are you ready? Go! [They eat a moment in silence.] He. I met your brother Charles on my way up to-night. She. Is that so? What did he have to say ? He. [Innocently.| He said it was a damned cold night. She. What! Why, John! He. [Laughing.| Ym sorry, dear, but you couldn’t expect me to forfeit on the very first send-off, you know. She. Well, you needn’t start subjects like that—just to make me ask questions that have horrid answers. He. [Still laughing.| My dear, you do me an injustice. I assure you, such a thought never—that is to say, I didn’t exactly She. Be careful, sir; I have my eye on you. He. I saw Jack Vaughan and his wife out driving this afternoon on my way down. She looked as pretty as a pict- ure. She. She’s the dearest little woman I know. He. But, madam, that’s just what you said yesterday about Mrs. Gordon. Now, which is the truth ? She. [Laughing.| Why, my last state- ment, of course. A whole day has passed since yesterday, you know—-besides, I said the dearest little woman, and Mrs. Gordon isa big woman. [She rings for servant, who enters and begins to serve dessert. | He. Haven’t we got anything besides soup for dinner to-night ? She. No, we haven’t, and it’s all your fault. You didn’t send home anything for dinner, the furnace fire has gone out, and the kitten has had another fit. He. Well, well. I can’t just see any relation of cause and effect between me and the cat’s fits—and, moreover, I did order something for dinner. She. How did you order it? He. By telephone. She. And when did you order it, sir ? He. Oh, well, I think somewhere about the latter part of the afternoon. She. Yes, exactly ; probably about six o’clock—I suppose. By the way, Mary, how is the kitten now? Mary. ’Dade, mum, I never see the loikes o’ that cat. He took another fit just now and he do be runnin’ round the kitchen wid the fit on him and his eyes as big as saucers schramin’ loike mad. Mrs. M. Oh, John! what shall we do with the poor thing ? He. From the symptoms, I should say the Keeley cure was the only hope. She. You heartless thing! [Silence a moment.| Oh, John ; did you remem- ber to take the duplicate silver spoon - that we had for a wedding present over to Dr. Eaton’s last week for their silver wedding ? He. Yes, my dear, I did. She. Good for you—what’s going to happen? And are you going out to- night, dear? He. Yes, I've got an appointment with a man at the Club. She. What for ? He. Oh, business—er—that is, bowl- ing business, you know. She. Ah, bowling ; and what was that business appointment you had there last night, my dear? He. Also bowling.

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504 A TOURNEY AT TRUTH-TELLING She. And so on for a month past, I suppose. Now remember your oath and answer me. Is it absolutely necessary for you to go out to-night? He. Well, no, I suppose not. Why? She. Because the Rev. Dr. Eaton and his wife said they were coming in to call this evening. He. Oh, the devil ! She. No, Dr. Eaton. He. But he is such an awful old bore. She. Oh, well, but it will be such a good chance to explain about those wed- ding invitations of ours—and they won’t stay long anyway, and we can have a ~ nice quiet evening to ourselves—won't you enjoy that? He. Yes, fairly well. She. You piggy! How do you like this dessert, speaking of pigs ? He. Tasteless sort of stuff ; why? She. Oh, never mind. He. Who made it, you? She. [Smiling.] No, it’s something your mother sent down. Isn’t Mary’s new cap becoming to her ? He. No, it makes her look too short. Mrs. M. Why, John ! Mary. [Indignantly snatching the cap from her head and holding it off at arm’s length.| Shure, mum, ain't that just what I told yez? Faith, Pll not be af- ther wearin’ one o’ them flummydoodle things again if I lose me place. [zit Mary, slamming the door. | Mrs. M. [In despair.| Now, John, see what you've done—and I worked so hard to train her and just got her to wear her cap—and girls are so scarce now ! He. Well, truth must out, you know, for the next twenty-four hours. [Takes a box of cigarettes from his pocket and lights one.| Will you join me? She. No, thank you. I never use— He. What ! She. [Archly.] _—that kind. He. Aha! Perhaps you have some of your kind. . She. [Flushing.]| Well, to tell the truth, I— [Taking a box from the poek- et of her gown and proffering it shyly to him.| Have one? He. [Laughing.| No, thanks, dear. Will you have a light, old man? [Offers her his cigarette.] She. [Taking his cigarette and light- ing her own in great embarrassment.| Thanks, dear. [Rings and rises.] Enter Mary. Mrs. M. Mary, if anyone calls to-night after Dr. and Mrs. Eaton, tell them that Iam not at ho— no, that I shall have— no, that I wish to be excused to-night. Scene Il.—Parlor, half an hour later. Mrs. Marvin seated at piano look- ing over music. Bell rings. En- ter Mary. Mary. If you plaze, mum, there is an ould lady and gintleman at the dooer. Mrs. M. Why, Mary, who are they? Didn’t you ask them in ? Mary. No, mum. They didn’t have no tickets and I didn’t know who they wuz nor whether you was to be at home or excused or what not, an’ they axes me was you at home and I says I didn’t know but I'd go and ax you, mum. Mrs. M. Heavens, Mary! Go straight back this minute and ask them in. [Exit Mary.| Enter Dr. and Mrs. Eaton. Mrs. M. [Going forward.| Good- evening, Doctor. How do you do, Mrs. Eaton? So sorry to have kept you waiting. My girl is so green and stu- pid, you know; I hope you will excuse it. Very glad you came. ‘Take this chair, Doctor, you will find it more comfortable. Mr. Marvin will be down presently. Excuse me a moment and I will speak to him. [Goes to hall-door and calls upstairs.| John, dear, what are you doing up there ; why don’t you come down ? Mr. M. [In desperate tones from above.| Trying to find a stocking with- out a hole in it, if you want to know. Mrs. M. [Returning, embarrassed.| He will be down in just a moment. [Sits.] What lovely weather we are having. Dr. E. Yes, indeed. Just a bit cold for me though. My thermometer, which I keep Mrs. E. 1 didn’t see you down to our church sale at the vestry last evening, Mrs. Marvin. Mrs. M. No. So sorry, but I—er— pA

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had an engagement. [Aside.] Heav- ens! That was pretty near the line. Mrs. E. It was too bad you couldn’t come. I always regard it a duty to at- tend all the church sales. We cleared fifty-seven dollars and forty-nine cents. Mrs. M. Really ? : Mrs. E. Yes, indeed. It is all for the benefit of the Home for Little Wander- ers, you know. We should have made more, too, if the young ladies in the paper-shade department had not made most of their shades into these horrid ballet girls with big skirts. Of course the Doctor told them at once that it would not do at all; so that, you see, reduced the profits in their department. Ah! Good-evening, Mr. Marvin. Mr. M. [Entering.] Good-evening, Mrs. Eaton. Good-evening, Doctor. I am very glad—er—-how do you do this evening? It seems an age since I saw you—er—except, of course, at church. Ha! ha! [Laughs nervously and shakes hands. Sits near the Doc- tor. | Dr. E. Yes, to be sure, to be sure. I believe I saw you there last Sunday, you and your wife. Mr. M. Indeed? I don’t see how you could recognize us. Our pew is so far back, you know. By the way, every- body considered your sermon last Sun- day a remarkably fine one, Doctor, al- low me to say. Dr. E. Well, well; really? Iam very glad you thought it so, 1am sure. I— er Mrs. M. [Feigning surprise.]| Why, John, were you at church last Sunday ? Mr. M. [With a dagger-like look at Mrs. M.| Why, no. I wasn’t there my- self. I was merely stating what I had heard. [An awkward pause.| Mrs. E. Oh, Mrs. Marvin, the Doctor and I want to thank you and your hus- band so much for the beautiful silver spoon you sent us at our silver wedding, last week. It was so kind of you to re- member us. By the way, Mr. Marvin, my daughter wanted me to ask you if you would mind telling her where you got that spoon. It is the exact pattern of one she borrowed, which got badly defaced while she had it, and now she is anxious to replace it. Mr. M. My wife, I think, can tell you A TOURNEY AT TRUTH-TELLING 505 better than I about that. looks at Mrs. M.| Mrs. M. [Nervously.| Why, certain- ly, of course. You see we had—we bought — er— it came from Doe and Roe’s. [Glances triumphantly at Mr. M.] Mrs. E. Thank you. She will be so glad to know. Mrs. M. They have such lovely things there ; don’t you think so ? Mrs. E. Oh, lovely! Mr. M. Speaking of Doe and Roe re- minds me; my dear, perhaps you had better explain to Doctor and Mrs. Eaton now about those invitations. Mrs. M. [Sweetly.| Perhaps you had better do it yourself, dear, as you know just how it happened. Mrs. E. [Consciously.| Do tell us, Mr. Marvin. Mr. M. [With a sickly smile at Mrs. E. and a revengeful look at his wife.| Well, you see—er—we learned only re- cently from some friends that you did not receive any invitation to our wed- ding or At Home’s, and we have been looking for an opportunity to explain to you. Sostupid of us! I know you will understand it was not intentional. I don’t see how it could have happened, but [Desperately| the fact was, we—er ——you see, we forgot to put you on our list. Yes, so sorry it happened. Can't understand it. Mrs. E. Oh, I assure you, it doesn’t matter at all. [The Doctor coughs nervously. Mrs. M. looks vexed. Silence for a moment. Clock on the mantel ticks loudly. | Mrs. M. I see by the paper we are go- ing to have a cold wave to-night. Dr. E. Yes, my thermometer has fallen two degrees and a half since six o’clock. Mrs. E. The Doctor’s thermometer is his pet hobby and his daily guide. Mr. M. Ah, yes, I see. Mercury is his guiding star, you might say. Dr. E. Yes, yes. Ishould take pleasure in showing you my thermometer some time. [With dreary minuteness.| I keep it fastened to the sill just outside one of our front windows facing into the house, so that it is visible from the room by day and by night. At certain degrees of temperature, which I have found by experience to be the proper [Turns and

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lite aaeaaee 506 IN FRONT OF THE FIRE ones, I have had marked on the margin, “Light Coat,” “Heavy Coat,” * Ulster,” for winter, and “ Medium Cloth,” ‘‘ Thin Cloth,” “ Duster” and “Sun Umbrella,” for summer. Thus, by simply glancing out of my window I can ascertain the proper clothing to put on without ex- posing myself at the door. Mrs. M. What a clever arrangement ! Mr. M. Dressing by thermometer ! A very original idea. Mrs. M. |Maliciously.| Oh, John, what was it you were saying the other day about someone who used a ther- mometer for that purpose ? Mr. M. Not a thermometer—a_ba- rometer. Mrs. M. Well, what was it you said ? It was very amusing. Mr. M. [With a meaning look at Mrs. M.| I don't—er—remember—er—the exact words. Mrs. M. Why, yes you do; it was only yesterday. Mr. M. Well. it was merely something like this [Desperately]: That I used to have an old professor at college who had to have a barometer to tell him when to go in out of the rain. Mrs. M. [Hastily.| Oh, yes, I re- member now. I thought it was some- thing about a thermometer. [Another pause. | Mrs. E. [Turning to Dr. E.| Well, dear, we ought to be going. You know we have another call to make this evening. Mrs. M. Don’t go. Why, this is only half a call. Mr. M. Don’t hurry, Doctor. Dr. E. Well, well, but we really must be going, I'm afraid. [ Rises. | Mr. M. [Aside.| Now for my tour de force. [Rises and stands near the man- tel. Takes down a meerschaum pipe.| Doctor, are you interested in pipes? I don’t suppose you are. Here is a pres- ent my wife made me on my birthday a while ago. Dr. E. Ah, so? Very fine, I should judge. Do you smoke a great deal? Mr. M. No, very seldom. My wife smokes occasionally, though. Mrs. M. Why, John Marvin! What do you mean ? Mr. M. [Turning toward her.| Why, yes, didn’t you smoke a cigarette with me to-night after dinner? [A pause. They all look at her.| Mrs. M. [Growing very red.\| Why, no—of course not. What an idea ! [Dr. and Mrs. E. look embarrassed. They mumble Good-evening, and go out. Mr. M. stands looking at Mrs. M. innocently for a moment, one hand in his pocket, the other twirl- ing his mustache, and then bursts in- to a loud laugh.| He. You lose. She. [Half in tears, seizing a sofa pil- low and holding tt threateningly in the air.| AndI must find no fault with you for a year? You villain! CurTAIN. IN FRONT OF THE FIRE By Robert Beverly Hale Mr. Conrad Phillips sat before a wood fire and waited for his nephew. He was ill at ease, for he was not accustomed to young men, and did not know how to amuse them. “If he were an old codger like me,” he said to himself, “ ’d put him up at the Hereford Club, and in the even- ing we'd come home and spend our time smoking and talking in front of this fire. But to have a boy of twenty-five on my hands for two months is rather hard lines.” The servant announced “ Mr. k was five o'clock in the afternoon. John Radcliffe,” and in another moment uncle and nephew were shaking hands. «“ Sit down, sit down, John,” said Mr. Phillips, after the first greetings had been exchanged. “How much you look like your mother! Takea cigar. A cigar- ette? Ah, that’s like you boys, always at work to undermine your constitutions. Your father says you have been working too hard, but you don’t look it.” John examined his uncle curiously. He had seen few such men in Chicago. Mr. Phillips looked something like his

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‘‘|'m going to launch you in Boston society idea of an English lord, though he had never seen one. “Tt wasn’t entirely my health,” the young man said. “ Father wanted me to see Boston. And perhaps I may be able to help you down at the office.” “Not a word about the office while you're with me,” said Mr. Phillips. “I’m going to launch you in Boston society. Now don’t make faces. Of course you wild Westerners like business better, but you need polish. I don’t believe you know more than twenty women in the world.” “That may be so,” replied John, smil- ing; “but you can’t change my nature in two months. Besides, I don’t know a soul in Boston.” “Oh, yes, you do,” said his uncle, ris- ing and going to his writing - desk. IN FRONT OF THE FIRE has 2 Miberhson ” “You're one of the most popular young men in town. Here are one, two, three —sixteen invitations for you, and its only the twentieth of November.” * Why, Uncle Conrad, you don’t mean to say that you took all that trouble!” True to his business instincts, John took a fountain-pen out of his pocket, “I suppose I had better answer them now,” he said. “Answer them?” cried his uncle. “ Why, I’ve answered them all.” Radcliffe put the pen back again. “Really!” he said. ‘“ Which way?” “Oh, as to that,” replied his uncle, “you've accepted every one.” Mr. Phillips lived in a large house on Beacon Street, opposite the Common, and, as his household consisted entirely of himself and the servants, he was not

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508 sorry to get hold of a younger man to help him make use of the rooms. John had a pleasant way of bursting out sing- ing once in a while, and that made the old house more cheerful. ““Where have you been this after- noon?” Mr. Phillips asked, as they sat by the fire on the evening of Radcliffe’s second day in Boston. “ Oh, I went to Mrs. Oxenham’s recep- tion,” said John. “That’s right,” his uncle observed. “Go to everything. You have every ad- vantage for entering society. Plenty of invitations, plenty of time, a rather at- tractive appearance—though probably your charms are very superticial—and a devoted uncle. Now let's hear all about it. You went in at the front door, and what happened then ?” “ Well, I went up and introduced my- self to Mrs. Oxenham, for none of the ushers seemed to take much interest in me. She pretended to be glad to see me, and said she used to go to school with mother. Then she told her son to introduce me to someone. He asked me whom I wanted to meet, and I looked round and when I had decided who was the prettiest girl in the room, I said I'd like to meet her.” “‘ My dear boy, you couldn’t have done a better thing. Get introduced to the pretty girls anyway. A pretty girl has at least one thing torecommend her. A plain girl probably has nothing.” John laughed. “Ill remember that,” he said. “This girl was tall and dark. Her name was Dorothy Putnam. She was very‘pleasant and sympathetic, and seemed to agree with me when I bragged about Chicago. I asked her what busi- ness her father was in, and she said he was dead, so I didn’t follow up that sub- ject, having evidently come to the end of it. I quite lost my heart to Miss Dorothy Putnam ; I don’t exactly know why, except that she was pretty and at- tractive, and seemed to like me. She’d never read eny Emerson, and had much as ever heard of Browning, so I think my idea of Boston girls must be mistaken. How should you like me to marry Miss Putnam, Uncle Conrad ? ” “ You haven’t told me enough about her yet,” said Mr. Phillips. “ Well, she is one of the girls who are IN FRONT OF THE FIRE just coming out; about nineteen years old, Ishould think. She’s just the right height for me, and seems to be very bright and amusing, and she has a great deal of fascination about her—I can’t exactly describe it.” “Should you like to sit opposite her at the breakfast-table ten thousand times in succession?” Mr. Phillips asked. “That’s the test of whether you had bet- ter marry a woman or not.” “Hm!” muttered Radcliffe. “Ihadn’t thought of that. I guess I had better not ask her just yet. She introduced me to some other girls—let me see—to Miss Evelyn Sullivan and Miss Janet Blood and Miss Alice Hastings. Miss Sullivan was a plain, round-shouldered aristocrat, fonder of turning up her nose than of talking. Miss Blood was a great boast- er. She is short and fat, but she tells me that next week she is going to nine balls, so I don’t doubt that shell be thinner soon. Miss Hastings was about the average in the way of looks, and agreed with everything Isaid. Perhaps she’d do best for the breakfast-table.” “No,” said Mr. Phillips. ‘“ Nonenti- ties are worse than any other kind. But I see you are impressed with Miss Put- nam. To-morrow night I suppose you will see her at the Strangmans’ ball. Thank you, Jack, for telling me so much. It makes me feel young again to hear of your triumphs.” The next night when John left the Strangmans’ ball it was after three o’clock. He walked home, crept quietly into the parlor of his uncle’s house, and found Mr. Phillips just where he had left him five hours before, in front of the fire. “Why, Uncle Conrad, did you sit up for me?” he cried. ‘Yes, I wanted to hear about the party.” “Oh, it was splendid! First rate! It was at Pierce Hall, you know ; and ever so much better in a hall than in a house.” “Well, tell your times. Putnam there ?” “Yes, and lots of others. I know ever so many now, and I danced with all of them.” “That's all very well at first ; but as Was Miss

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IN FRONT OF THE FIRE a general thing you'd better pick out the four or five girls you like best and dance with them. You'll have a better time and so will they.” ‘Well, I danced with Miss Putnam a great many times. She dances splen- didly, and she was pleased to say she liked my dancing. I asked her wheth- er she was cross at breakfast and she said she was; so you see I'm warned. Everyone wanted to dance with her, but she and I found a little corner in one of the rooms opening into the hall where we could sit unobserved, and there we remained while other people looked for her, and we told each other how much we liked each other, not as anything important you know, but just casually. It’s strange what a difference there is between girls. When I brought her her supper, she was sitting beside a friend of hers named Rose Farrington ; and you never saw such a contrast. Miss Putnam is always talking agreeably, and Miss Farrington hardly ever says a word, and when she does it is apt to be disagreeable. Miss Putnam dances like an angel; Miss Farrington like the devil. Miss Putnam is tall and dark ; Miss Farrington short and fair. Yet they're great friends. Miss Putnam says-Miss Farrington’s worth ten of her ; but I don’t believe it. I danced with Miss Farrington once; just by chance, for I didn’t happen to see any- one else I knew.” “Don't ever do that,” said Mr. Phillips. “If all the girls you want to dance with are dancing, wait till one of them gets through. Talk to your hostess while you are waiting, and get the reputation of being polite. How was your stout friend, Miss Blood ?” “Oh, she had a dreadful cold. I could hardly hear what she said. She dances like all fat people; she springs about like a chamois with great bounds, and drags her partner after her. I was perspiring profusely whenI got through. She complimented my dancing, but I couldn’t reply. I just bowed.” “That’s right,” said Mr. Phillips. “Don’t ever repay a compliment by an- other. It’s like giving a New Year's gift to a man who gave you a Christmas present.” “She was very warm herself,” Rad- 509 cliffe went on. “If she really goes to those nine bails next week she can say, with Cardinal Wolsey, ‘Farewell, a long farewell to all my greatness!’ Well, good-night, Uncle Conrad ! ” “‘ Good-night.” “Have you made any of your party calls yet?” Mr. Phillips asked, one evening after dinner, as the two men sat in front of the fire as usual. “Only a few. It’s rather a bore.” “Then just let me give you a piece of advice. Set apart Monday afternoon to make the calls belonging to all the par- ties of the week before. One afternoon is enough, if you know how to econo- mize time properly. Write down the names and addresses of all the people you're going to visit, and then put them through. While you're going from house to house, keep your eyes well on the ground, or up in the air, so that you won’t see anyone. That will obviate the chance of meeting the ladies whom you are to call upon. Sometimes the ladies will be at home, but not often. If they are, stay longer than half an hour ; if you go earlier, they will think you arent enjoying yourself. When the servant answers your ring at the door- bell, don’t say ‘Are Mrs. Coldstream and Miss Coldstream at home?’ but mutter sternly ‘Are the ladies receiv- ing?’ Then the girl or butler will surely say no. But be mighty sure you get the right house. Don’t ask if the ladies are at home till you’re pretty sure who the ladies are. I once asked if the ladies were receiving, and the servant told me that she thought Miss Rose was at home, and went to see. I knew then that I must be in the wrong house, for I was acquainted with no Miss Rose, so I just opened the door and went away.” Radcliffe laughed. ‘Thank you for your advice, Uncle Conrad,” he said. “It's always good. Haven’t you any more for to-night? Evelyn Sullivan’s mother’s going to give a cotillion, and i shall be there.” “Very well, here’s some advice. Never propose to a girl with a pretty dress on. Wait till she has on an unbe- coming one. Then you'll know whether it’s the dress you like, or the girl.”

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508 IN FRONT OF THE FIRE sorry to get hold of a younger man to help him make use of the rooms. John had a pleasant way of bursting out sing- ing once in a while, and that made the old house more cheerful. ““Where have you been this after- noon?” Mr. Phillips asked, as they sat by the fire on the evening of Radcliffe’s second day in Boston. “Oh, I went to Mrs. Oxenham’s recep- tion,” said John. “That’s right,” his uncle observed. “Go to everything. You have every ad- vantage for entering society. Plenty of invitations, plenty of time, a rather at- tractive appearance—though probably your charms are very superticial—and a devoted uncle. Now let's hear all about it. You went in at the front door, and what happened then ?” “ Well, I went up and introduced my- self to Mrs. Oxenham, for none of the ushers seemed to take much interest in me. She pretended to be glad to see me, and said she used to go to school with mother. Then she told her son to introduce me to someone. He asked me whom I wanted to meet, and I looked round and when I had decided who was the prettiest girl in the room, I said I'd like to meet her.” “‘ My dear boy, you couldn’t have done a better thing. Get introduced to the pretty girls anyway. A pretty girl has at least one thing torecommend her. A plain girl probably has nothing.” John laughed. “Tl remember that,” he said. “This girl was tall and dark. Her name was Dorothy Putnam. She was very*pleasant and sympathetic, and seemed to agree with me whenI bragged about Chicago. I asked her what busi- ness her father was in, and she said he was dead, so I didn’t follow up that sub- ject, having evidently come to the end of it. I quite lost my heart to Miss Dorothy Putnam ; I don’t exactly know why, except that she was pretty and at- tractive, and seemed to like me. She'd never read eny Emerson, and had much as ever heard of Browning, so I think my idea of Boston girls must be mistaken. How should you like me to marry Miss Putnam, Uncle Conrad ?” “You haven't told me enough about her yet,” said Mr. Phillips. “ Well, she is one of the girls who are just coming out; about nineteen years old, Ishould think. She’s just the right height for me, and seems to be very bright and amusing, and she has a great deal of fascination about her—I can’t exactly describe it.” “Should you like to sit opposite her at the breakfast-table ten thousand times in succession?” Mr. Phillips asked. ‘“« That’s the test of whether you had bet- ter marry a woman or not.” “Hm!” muttered Radcliffe. “Ihadn’t thought of that. I guess I had better not ask her just yet. She introduced me to some other girls—let me see—to Miss Evelyn Sullivan and Miss Janet Blood and Miss Alice Hastings. Miss Sullivan was a plain, round-shouldered aristocrat, fonder of turning up her nose than of talking. Miss Blood was a great boast- er. She is short and fat, but she tells me that next week she is going to nine balls, so I don’t doubt that she'll be thinner soon. Miss Hastings was about the average in the way of looks, and agreed with everything Isaid. Perhaps she’d do best for the breakfast-table.” “No,” said Mr. Phillips. ‘“ Nonenti- ties are worse than any other kind. But I see you are impressed with Miss Put- nam. To-morrow night I suppose you will see her at the Strangmans’ ball. Thank you, Jack, for telling me so much. It makes me feel young again to hear of your triumphs.” The next night when John left the Strangmans’ ball it was after three o'clock. He walked home, crept quietly into the parlor of his uncle’s house, and found Mr. Phillips just where he had left him five hours before, in front of the fire. “ Why, Uncle Conrad, did you sit up for me?” he cried. “Yes, I wanted to hear about the party.” “Oh, it was splendid! First rate! It was at Pierce Hall, you know; and ever so much better in a hall than ina house.” “Well, tell your times. Was Miss Putnam there ?” “Yes, and lots of others. I know ever sO many now, and I danced with all of them.” *'That’s all very well at first ; but as

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IN FRONT OF THE FIRE a general thing you'd better pick out the four or five girls you like best and dance with them. You'll have a better time and so will they.” ‘Well, I danced with Miss Putnam a great many times. She dances splen- didly, and she was pleased to say she liked my dancing. I asked her wheth- er she was cross at breakfast and she said she was; so you see I'm warned. Everyone wanted to dance with her, but she and I found a little corner in one of the rooms opening into the hall where we could sit unobserved, and there we remained while other people looked for her, and we told each other how much we liked each other, not as anything important you know, but just casually. It’s strange what a difference there is between girls. When I brought her her supper, she was sitting beside a friend of hers named Rose Farrington ; and you never saw such a contrast. Miss Putnam is always talking agreeably, and Miss Farrington hardly ever says a word, and when she does it is apt to be disagreeable. Miss Putnam dances like an angel; Miss Farrington like the devil. Miss Putnam is tall and dark ; Miss Farrington short and fair. Yet they're great friends. Miss Putnam says-Miss Farrington’s worth ten of her ; but I don’t believe it. I danced with Miss Farrington once; just by chance, for I didn’t happen to see any- one else I knew.” “Don't ever do that,” said Mr. Phillips. “If all the girls you want to dance with are dancing, wait till one of them gets through. Talk to your hostess while you are waiting, and get the reputation of being polite. How was your stout friend, Miss Blood ?” “Oh, she had a dreadful cold. I could hardly hear what she said. She dances like all fat people; she springs about like a chamois with great bounds, and drags her partner after her. I was perspiring profusely whenI got through. She complimented my dancing, but I couldn’t reply. I just bowed.” “That’s right,” said Mr. Phillips. “Don’t ever repay a compliment by an- other. It’s like giving a New Year's gift to a man who gave you a Christmas present.” “She was very warm herself,” Rad- 509 cliffe went on. “If she really goes to those nine bails next week she can say, with Cardinal Wolsey, ‘Farewell, a long farewell to all my greatness!’ Well, good-night, Uncle Conrad ! ” * Good-night.” “Have you made any of your party calls yet?” Mr. Phillips asked, one evening after dinner, as the two men sat in front of the fire as usual. “Only a few. It’s rather a bore.” “Then just let me give you a piece of advice. Set apart Monday afternoon to make the calls belonging to all the par- ties of the week before. One afternoon is enough, if you know how to econo- mize time properly. Write down the names and addresses of all the people you're going to visit, and then put them through. While you're going from house to house, keep your eyes well on the ground, or up in the air, so that you won't see anyone. That will obviate the chance of meeting the ladies whom you are to call upon. Sometimes the ladies will be at home, but not often. If they are, stay longer than half an hour ; if you go earlier, they will think you aren't enjoying yourself. When the servant answers your ring at the door- bell, don’t say ‘Are Mrs. Coldstream and Miss Coldstream at home?’ but mutter sternly ‘Are the ladies receiv- ing?’ Then the girl or butler will surely say no. But be mighty sure you get the right house. Don’t ask if the ladies are at home till you’re pretty sure who the ladies are. I once asked if the ladies were receiving, and the servant told me that she thought Miss Rose was at home, and went to see. I knew then that I must be in the wrong house, for I was acquainted with no Miss Rose, so I just opened the door and went away.” Radcliffe laughed. ‘Thank you for your advice, Uncle Conrad,” he said. “It’s always good. Haven't you any more for to-night? Evelyn Sullivan’s mother’s going to give a cotillion, and i shall be there.” “Very well, here’s some advice. Never propose toa girl with a pretty dress on. Wait till she has on an unbe- coming one. Then you'll know whether it’s the dress you like, or the girl.”

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510 “All right, Ill be sure. By the way, guess who it is I'm going to dance the cotillion with.” “ Miss Putnam.” “No. Miss Farrington.” “Why, I thought you hated her.” “Oh, no, Uncle Conrad, she’s not so bad as all that. If she didn’t -snub me so much, I shouldn’t mind her. By the way, what ought you to say when a girl is impudent to you?” “Don’t take any notice of it at the time,” said Mr. Phillips. ‘If you reply, things will degenerate into a squabble. Wait till she doesn’t expect an attack, and then suddenly tell her that you think she has been extremely rude and that you are generally disgusted with her, and then go away. She will gen- erally be more careful about pitching into you another time.” Evidently the Sullivans’ cotillion was not a great success, for John seemed thoroughly disgusted when he came in at four o’clock the next morning. He said nothing, but flung himself down in his arm-chair and waited for his uncle to begin. “You don’t look as if you'd had a very good time,” Mr. Phillips observed. “No, I didn’t. Ididn’t have a single good dance all through the evening.” “T suppose Miss Farrington hasn’t improved, then?” “No. But it wasn’t only she. She’s all well enough. She doesn’t pretend to dance well. But the other girls, Inez Hartington and Alice Hastings and Dorothy Putnam ; none of them could dance.” “T guess I know what was the mat- ter,” said Mr. Phillips. ‘ When you notice that every girl in the room is dancing badly, you can be tolerably certain that it’s really yourself that isn’t up to the mark.” Radcliffe laughed. “I shouldn’t be surprised if you were right,” he said. “Miss Farrington said something like that.” Mr. Phillips noticed that John always called Rose Farrington “ Miss Farrington.” “But Miss Farrington’s always saying disagreeable things. The worst part of it is that they’re generally true. Now she told me to-night that I was always thinking about myself. If IN FRONT OF THE FIRE she’d only told me I was cruel, or mean, or even vain, I should have known it wasn’t so, and laughed at her; but when an adversary finds a sore spot and pokes you there, you can’t help wincing.” “Why don’t you bullyrag her?” “T did. I made her feel pretty cheap by saying she was more utterly devoid of sympathy than anyone else I had ever met. That made her miserable, so we were both miserable for a while.” “What a loving pair of partners! Did you ask her if she was cross at breakfast ? ” “Yes. I told her what you said about breakfasting, and asked her how she thought she and I would get on at that meal. She said she never said anything at it, and that if she was ever married she would have two newspapers and read one while her husband read the other.” “But why don’t you tell me some- thing about Miss Putnam?” “Oh, she was there, talking and laughing as usual. She got twelve favors, one of which I gave her. Miss Farrington had ten. I don’t see why, but people seem to like her. I think Dorothy Putnam is a little superficial. She’s nice enough, but after all you do want a girl to have some brains. I like her better than any other Boston girl, but that isn’t saying very much. I’m afraid Boston society isn’t exactly my element, Uncle Conrad. Chicago and the glue business for me !” “Nonsense, my boy! favors did you get?” “ Fifteen.” “Tn four figures?” “Tn three.” “Why, my dear fellow, you’re the most popular man in Boston! But I suppose you're getting sick of parties. Why don’t you call on some of these girls?” “T think I will. Tl call on Dorothy Putnam and perhaps Miss Farrington. Miss Farrington would say no if I asked her, soI guess Ill go without asking.” How many One night at about eleven o’clock John came dancing into the parlor like a harlequin.

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IN FRONT OF THE FIRE “You've been having a good time, I see,” said his uncle. “Fairly good. Ive been calling on Dorothy Putnam.” _ “Indeed! Well, sit down and let’s hear what you talked about.” “Oh, we talked about balls and teas and dinners and things of that kind. She’s a mighty jolly girl, but I’m afraid she’s just a little bit of a fool.” “Why, what’s the matter?” “Oh, she behaves so queerly. She doesn’t mind saying she likes a fellow ; and to-night when we were talking and the door-bell rang, she told the maid that she wasn’t at home, if anyone called for her.” “That was rather a compliment to you, I should think.” “Yes. Toomuchofaone. It scared me a little, and set me thinking. I guess I'll keep away from that house for a while.” When John came in the next even- ing, he was very grave. “Tve been to make a call on Miss Farrington,” he said; “but I guess I won't talk about it this time, Uncle Conrad, if you don’t mind.” “ Why, surely I don’t. Are you going to the Doolittles’ ball to-night? ” “Yes. I’m just going up to dress.” Six hours later, John came back from the ballin a great state of excitement. This time he was very talkative. “It was the greatest thing of the sea- son, Uncle Conrad,” he said, as he sat down. ‘Well, who was there ?” “Oh, the same old crowd. There weren't quite enough men there, so some of the girls were left, and I had to dance with two or three wall-flowers.” “Why, John, I told you not to do that!” “ Yes, I know,” said John, blushing, “but someone else told me to do it.” 511 * But, John, the only effect is to make wall-flowers come to more dances. It does them harm in the long run. The fittest alone ought to survive at dancing parties.” * Well, this other adviser asked me if I didn’t feel mean when I didn’t dance with them. I said I did, and then she said, ‘ Well,’ as if that settled it, and by Jove I'm half inclined to think she was right. But I didn’t do it much, any- way.” “Whom did you dance with besides the wall-flowers ?” ** Oh, I danced with Miss Farrington, and—with Miss Farrington— Let’s see ; who else was there?” “Why, John, are you crazy? You couldn’t have danced with one girl for five hours.” “No, but there was supper.” “ Whom did you take out?” “Miss Farrington. But now I re- member, I danced with Dorothy Put- nam once, and with, let me _ see, with Pe “Miss Farrington?” suggested Mr. Phillips. “No. Not so much as all that. Miss Farrington and I sat out a good while though, and talked. We talked about you some.” “About me? What else?” “Well, about lots of things. In fact. we got pretty intimate, and after a while 9s “ Well ?” “T asked her a question.” * What was it?” “T asked her to marry me.” The old man puffed at his cigar for awhile. Then he asked : * What did she say ?” “She said she would.” Again Mr. Phillips meditated. “Well,” he said at last, “the Far- ringtons are one of the oldest families in Boston.” That was strange.

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AS OTHERS SEE US By Arthur Blount HOSE who know Filippo Ciarli— i old Ciarli, lean, solemn, and caus- tic — the man who painted “Il Sogno del Nonno,” will understand this little tale. Those who are in love will understand how he was forgiven so promptly. Those who know me will—laugh and say it served me right. And it did. Jennifer Clayton fell in love. The lady was Miss Lamb, a remarkably pret- ty girl from Boston, whose studio was across the court from his. I was often surprised that Clayton, who is one of the cleverest young fel- lows in Florence, could adore a girl who managed to perpetrate such horrible daubsas did Miss Lamb—horrible daubs that no one ever bought—but me. But this didn’t seem to have the slightest weight with him. When I tried to get him to express an opinion as to the artistic work of his innamorata, he used to smile vacantly, and ask me if the dimple under her eye wasn’t de- licious. One morning last February I climbed up his stairs and pounded on the door. Someone sang out, “ Avanti,” and I went in Miss Lamb and her aunt, Mrs. Pike, were there, and Ciarli. They were all standing in front of an easel, on which rested a half-finished picture. “Here he is himself,” cried Miss Lamb, as Ientered. “You ask him, Mr. Clay- ton.” Clayton, who was sewing buttons on his waistcoat, blushed, rolled up his work, and threw it behind the screen. “Oh! you see, Blount,” he exclaimed, “this is Miss Lamb’s new picture, and she wants—well, in fact, she hasn’t put in the father’s head—and—and—you'll sit for it, won’t you, like a good fellow ?” I looked helplessly around. Ciarli was chewing the end of his cigar im- perturbably. “T don’t think [d do,” I began, but Mrs. Pike routed me. She always did. “T am sure that you, who admire Alice’s work so much, will not refuse her this small favor.” I looked again at the canvas. Must my plain but respectable features figure there, on top of that epileptic form in cherry-colored trunks ? ‘Do you like it, so far?” asked Miss Lamb, gently. * It—it is lovely,” Istammered. Why had I ever begun pretending to admire the wretched girl’s work? I thought of the inconspicuous closet where lay seven awful things signed “A. Lamb.” How I loathed Ciarli, as, removing his cigar, he observed, carefully : “T sink you look very nice in ze pict- ure, Blount.” “At all events,” I thought, as I con- sented with a gloomy smile, “no one will buy it but me. That makes eight.” I sat several times without seeing the work as it progressed, and at last it was pronounced completed. Clayton gave a tea in honor of the “unveiling,” so to speak, and invited Ciarli and several others. Iam not vainer than most men of my age, but I confess to a shiver as with a preliminary flourish Clayton raised the curtain and the picture was visible. It was absolutely excruciating. I was depicted in the indelicate position of spying on a young man in pea-green, who was about to embrace a lop-sided girl in mauve. And the drawing! the coloring ! Miss Lamb, with a joyfully expectant blush, looked up at me. “Tt is excellent,” I murmured, “but —am I cross-eyed ?” The look became indignant, then transferred itself to Clayton. “Oh, come now! That’s too bad,” said he, “it’s the light.” There was a deathly hush, when sud- denly old Ciarli, who stood behind us all, burst into.a positive bellow of laughter. We all turned. “T really do not see—” began Mrs. Pike with dignity.

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' THE SEA OF SILENCE 513 “Of course, you not see; ma—Dio / It is so—splendidly bad !” It was really too outrageous, even though he is a great painter. “JT think it is very good,” I interposed, lying nobly ; “I hope I may have it. It is a—a surprising work.” * §), si, you have reason,” shrieked Ciarli, pointing his long brown finger at the leg of the young man in green. “Tt is a surprising work. Nevaire in my life have I seen such a badness! It is horrible—terrible ! ” Miss Lamb burst into tears, and left the room, followed by Clayton and Mrs. Pike. “Shut up, you brute,” I exclaimed, roughly. ‘You ought to be ashamed of yourself.” “ Sapristi! Some one must tell her. Such foolishness. Dio di Cielo, look at that knee!” He wiped his eyes and shrugged his narrow shoulders. “You nevaire see me laugh before. Mees Lamb she make what many have try—Filippo Ciarli to laugh.” “You must apologize. Her heart is broken.” “Che! Ze boy he makes good ze heart.” He was right. An hour later, as we sat in his studio, in came Clayton and Miss Lamb. *Tt’s all right, Ciarli, you old villain. We forgive you; don’t we, Alice?” Ciarli, grave as a stone image, held out his famous right hand to the young lady, and made his speech. “You very prittee young signorina, forgive me? I very cross and solemn old man—I am been very donkey to laugh. I make you very good picture for ze—mariage. Va bene?” I have known him for fifteen years, and never saw him laugh, before or since. As to the picture, Mrs. Clayton’s last, it has joined the other seven in my closet. I really couldn’t do less. THE SEA OF SILENCE By Florence May Alt Wuen between us two there rolled Wide Atlantic’s sea, Ships too frail thy love to hold Brought thy words to me! Though thy letters few and far Crost a burning zone, Yet thy love rose like a star— I was not alone. When thy white sails westward flew, * What are seas?” I cried: “What but ribbons broad and blue, That the gods have tied!” Though across Pacific’s sea, Drifted wrecks were blown, Still thy letters came to me— I was not alone. But to-day we met—behold ! In the narrow street ; And the Sea of Silence rolled To our very feet. Not a smile to cross the space, Not a tender tone ; I, while looking in thy face, Knew I was alone!

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YT a tt es er a eee ae = THE~MIRACLES OF ST. ANNE By Cleveland Moffett not understand, but when you see a bright little girl with face full of color running about, the picture of health, and when that little gii1’s mother tells you, as she told me, that only a few months before her child was crippled with hip disease, with the doctors pow- erless to relieve her, and when you hear that it was not steel corsets or cruel bandages that made the change, but the grace of “Good Saint Anne” alone, then you go away thinking, less in- clined to scoff at the happy mother as she kneels and kisses the relic. You may be inclined to call it all a delusion, but the hip disease was not a delusion. It is such cases as this that are bring- ing pilgrim bands season after season to the famous shrine of St. Anne de Beaupré, which stands on the St. Law- rence, about twenty-one miles down from Quebec. Here wonderful cures have been wrought for 250 years. The following statistics show that the pil- grimages are increasing in number constantly. In 1870 about ten thousand pilgrims visited the shrine, and a few hundred masses were celebrated. In 1880, 36,500 pilgrims came and 1,540 masses were celebrated. In 1890 the number of pilgrims reached 105,672, and the number of masses celebrated was 3,696. In the present year these figures have been nearly doubled, the average number of pilgrims arriving every day of the summer season amounting to over one thousand. St. Anne was the mother of the blessed Virgin, and her special worship in Canada is due, so tradition has it, to the vow of three young fishermen, who, being caught in a storm on the St. Lawrence, pledged themselves to found a sanctuary to St. Anne if they were allowed to reach the shore in safety. This pledge they kept, and to-day the twin towers of St. Anne de Beaupré rise from the spot where they landed. This was about 1660, at which time I is easy to laugh at what one does there were only ten churches in the whole of Canada. It was while the foundations of this early church were being laid that the first case of miraculous cure occurred, a farmer of Petit Cap, named Louis Gui- mont, being relieved of his rheumatism by the power of the Good Saint, as was believed. From that date until to-day the sick have been healed at Beaupré by hundreds and thousands. Account for it as one may, the testimony on this point is overwhelming. Long before railways were thought of, rich and poor alike travelled long distances and en- dured great privations for the sake of visiting St. Anne’s Shrine. Even the Indians used to paddle down the St. Lawrence in numbers to implore the protection of the great wonder-worker. New Yorkers will remember the relic of Good St. Anne exposed some years ago to pious multitudes in their city. They will remember the excitement it created and the cures accomplished. That relic is now at the shrine of St. Anne, where it was brought with great pomp by Cardinal Taschereau. There are several other relics of the great saint in the church at Beaupré, the most notable of which is a fragment of one of St. Anne’s finger-bones, jeal- ously guarded in a casket.of solid gold with a cover of crystal, which pilgrims are allowed to kiss. This relic has been shown at Beaupré for over two hundred years. It looked to me, as the priest held it under my eyes, like a piece of shrivelled cork, which would be blown to pieces by a puff. Before describing what happens at the shrine, let me go back to the pil- grim train and the strange journey from Quebec. The car in which I sat contained a number of nuns, who had in charge many young girls. There was also a sprinkling of priests. Since the night before, no one of them had tasted food, nor could all the beauties of river or mountain divert their

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PUD errs id 4 THE MIRACLES OF ST. ANNE 515 thoughts from the great event in which they were about to participate. The priests sat with bowed heads, their lips moving silently; the nuns read their books of prayer, hardly lifting their eyes, while the girls repeated “ Hail Mary’s” without intermission. Above the roar of the train sounded the mur- mur of their voices repeating again and again in unison the familiar appeal to the Virgin. No one seemed the least surprised or embarrassed. ‘Those who were praying, prayed on unconcernedly, no matter what happened ; while those who were travelling for business or pleasure seemed to take it all as a matter of course. People got on and off, the con- ductor took up the tickets, the brake- man made his calls, the tourists stared at Montmorency Falls, the engine shrieked, cinders blew in through the open windows, and still the heads re- mained bowed, the lips prayed silently, and the chorus of “ Hail Mary’s” went on as smoothly as the calm St. Lawrence. When the train stopped at the St. Anne de Beaupré station seven or eight hundred pilgrims got off, more than half of them being lads from the Broth- ers’ School of St. Roch, in Quebec. The little fellows, decked out in gold-em- broidered collars and red sashes and with emblematic hearts on their breasts, formed in line promptly and started for the church in procession, singing as they went. Behind them came the women and a miscellaneous crowd, in which were invalids and cripples, some helped along by friends, some hobbling on crutches—all hopeful that “Good Saint Anne ” was about to work a mir- acle and relieve their afflictions. Arrived in the church, which they nearly filled, everything went ahead like clock-work, the priests beginning the mass at once, after a special litany in honor of St. Anne. Then came the communion, each man, woman, and child looking with awe- stricken but appealing glances at the tall statue of St. Anne as they passed by it with folded hands to the chancel rail. Those who went up with crutches came back as they went, and no miracle was wrought on this occasion. Still the lame ones were comforted by the sight of two great pyramids of crutches which stand near the door. The statue of St. Anne with the infant Virgin in her arms stands in the main aisle directly in front of the communion rail. It is of wood, finely carved and painted in brilliant colors, mainly blue and gold. Crowns of massive gold rest upon the head of mother and child. The height, including the white pedes- tal, is about twenty feet. The base is literally covered with golden hearts and crosses left by pilgrims whose prayers were answered. Candles burn on either side and flowers bloom all the year around, and enclosed in a glass case just in the front is a piece of whitish stone as large as a billiard-ball, which the inscription says is a fragment taken from the cave where St. Anne gave birth to the Virgin Mary. Just below this is an overflowing basket for the reception of letters ad- dressed to the Good Saint. All the letters were carefully sealed and ad- dressed, many of them in a way which showed their writers had more faith than education. One, for instance, bore this inscription, “Sens Tane, merre de Marie,” which would almost puzzle a Frenchman. Another bore in blue pencil the names of Patrick J. Grogan and wife, of Milwaukee. What becomes of these letters, or what messages they contain, no one knows. Lying at the foot of the statue was a heap of incongruous offerings, including a rusty gun, an old cloth slipper, and a pipe left in its case. One of the fathers, after kindly show- ing me the various relics and valuable. pieces (including a souvenir in silver and gold, left by the Count of Paris, on the occasion of his visit in October, 1890), told me of strange things that had happened in the church within his own knowledge. “There was an old woman,” said he, “who walked all the way here from a village near Montreal, about two hun- dred miles, because she had faith that St. Anne could cure her son, whose body was almost eaten away with sicken- ing ulcers. The poor woman had no money to buy any of the consecrated souvenirs, so she broke off a piece of wood from an old door in the church

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516 and took this fragment back home with her, perfectly content. When she had dragged herself back home she cut the piece of wood into fine shavings and made them into a poultice, which she laid upon her son’s sores. He was cured instantly and has been a well man ever since. ‘‘The ludicrous part of the affair was that the young man—he was twenty- five years old—was so grateful to St. Anne that he not only came here him- self, but insisted upon rising from his seat in the midst of mass and crying out : ‘O Good Saint Anne, I am a great sinner. Let me tell my sins and be for- given.’ Thereupon he turned to the congregation and began blurting out a string of sins, not such as those present cared to hear about, and I had to stop him.” While the father was speaking sev- eral women approached to have medals blessed, an operation which he accom- plished with a wave of the hand grown familiar from constant repetition. “Do the priests who come with the pilgrims say mass themselves ?” I asked. “Certainly. They say mass, furnish the singing, and do whatever they please. We arrange in advance by letter so as to prevent conflict between different pilgrimages.” It appears that the Church of St. Anne de Beaupré is in the hands of an archconfraternity of Redemptorist fathers, twelve in all, with a superior, Father Tielen. By a rescript of May 7, 1876, Pope Pius IX. granted excep- tional favors to the sanctuary, which enjoys the title and privilege of a basil- ica. That gives the pastor the right to sit on a throne, to wear the cappa magna, and to be preceded by ringing bells. Furthermore, the indulgences of the seven privileged altars of the basilica of St. Peter’s at Rome have been attached to the seven altars of the church at Beaupré, and the statue of St. Anne has been solemnly crowned in the name of the sovereign pontiff. I asked the father if he could give me some instances of miracles which had happened in the church within recent years, and to the authenticity of which he would personally certify. He prompt- ly gave me a score of such, assuring me Sai Li aaa ile a tn A Ne i ce THE MIRACLES OF ST. ANNE that he had made personal investigation into each, and giving documentary evi- dence. MIRACLE NO. I. Dr. T. P. Boulet, of Quebec, gave the following written testimony in a letter dated July 31, 1886, regarding the case of a Miss Labrie, whom he had treated : I first knew Miss Labrie about six years ago, when she was suffering from dyspepsia in a most acute form, which gradually became ag- gravated. Ihave attended her from that time without any result. In 1881 it was judged necessary to give her extreme unction. Previously, fora long time, she could take no other nourishment than gruel, much diluted, and milk and water. On many occasions, even last year, she suffered from in- testinal ulcers and abundant hemorrhages, so that she was reduced to the utmost weakness, which obliged her to keep her bed the greater part of the time. At the beginning of this month I was consulted as to the feasibility of taking her to St. Anne de Beaupré. I did not think it advisable to undertake this journey, as I dreaded some fatal issue. Moreover, during the five or six days immediately preceding, her condition was worse than ever. In spite of all obstacles, Miss Labrie persisted in her desire to goto St. Anne. So great was the fatigue she experienced on this journey that many persons present and the invalid herself, thought that she would never return alive to Quebec. But after having venerated the relic of St. Anne she immediately felt stronger and more at ease and began to walk without assistance. More than this, she partook of some nourish- ment, something she had been unable to do for a long time. Her return home was a most happy one, and since her condition has under- gone constant amelioration. In fine, this change wrought in Miss Labrie has been so great, so sudden, and so complete that I have not the slightest doubt of its being due to the powerful intercession of Good St. Anne, and I am most happy to give this testimony in her honor. MIRACLE NO. II. A married man from St. Vincent de Paul writes : My wife was taken dll some yearsago. After having been attended by several doctors her iliness was looked upon as incurable, and her sufferings were terrible. She could not walk, and from the knee to the ankle she was cov- ered with wounds. Not being able tolie down on account of the feeling of suffocation, she had to remain constantly seated, suffering from such incessant thirst that she could not pass more than an hour without drinking. She had been in this state for nearly two years and ahalf, when, the doctors despairing of her case, she placed all her hopes in St. Anne.

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: : { cal ih eae ieee i RE THE MIRACLES OF ST. ANNE 517 ape E us | RDreene The Present Church. She undertook a pilgrimage to St. Anne de Beaupré, a move which our relations and friends looked on as foolish and imprudent, saying she would die before arriving at her journey’s end. She received holy commun- ion seated in her chair and then heard three masses in thanksgiving. During all this time she felt no need of taking any beverage. After her thanksgiving she remarked to me that she felt better ; she arose and went toward the sacristy and mounted the steps leading to it without any great difficulty. After having re- ceived the blessing of the parish priest she re- traced her steps quite unassisted and walking more and more easily. St. Anne had cured her. Shortly afterward all her pains left her, her wounds healed, the swelling disappeared, and now she is perfectly well.—D. H. P. Her physician adds the following cer- tificate : I, the undersigned physician, certify to hav- ing attended Mme. Paré, from the end of the year 1877 to the commencement of 1880, with- out obtaining any satisfactory result. A month ago the same Mme. Paré came to see me and appeared to be perfectly cured. F. A. GERMAIN, M.D. MIRACLE NO. III. An American physician writes thus of his own case : LEWISTON, ME., June 30, 1887. I certify by these presents that after three weeks of pain caused by sciatica, with the worst sufferings and the best medical care, I expe- rienced no relief. I endured positive agony. The thought of St. Anne came into my mind. I began to place confidence in her, and from that moment I felt better. Finally I promised to go to St. Anne if I were better, and I be- View of Beaupré.

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: | Me etn a oA oe eh salem so A 518 THE MIRACLES OF ST. ANNE The Old Church. came so. At this time I am very well and ' consider myself as entirely cured. (Signed) L. N. Bourque, M.D. The Repository of the Bone of St. Anne MIRACLE NO. IV. The New York Catholic Review pub- lished the following letter on July 6, 1887. It is from an American lady : In the year 1882 my son, then only four years old, received an injury to his spine, the ill effects of which constantly increased until he became entirely impotent. His right hip was utterly powerless. While visiting my friends at Ottawa the fol- lowing summer, I had my child examined by two of the most eminent physicians, who con- cluded that he was suffering from curvature of the spine, a disease which could only be re- lieved by the use of a spinal corset and other apparatus employed in such cases. The next day, before I had ordered these appliances, Providence attracted my attention toa pilgrim- age which was to be made within a short time to the sanctuary of St. Anne, where I heard that so many marvellous cures had taken place. We reached the shrine safely, and as I went to the rail I placed my little boy at the foot of the statue of St. Anne, ‘ Mother of the afflict- ed,” and when returning from the Holy Table. I offered him to her tender pity and besought her to restore him to health. While I was kneeling at her feet and sup- plicating her for my child, he had an attack of faintness. I carried him into the open air, where he soon regained his senses, and, to my astonishment and joy, he began to run about perfectly cured, without showing the least sign of weakness. From that time he has enjoyed excellent health. Mrs. THOMAS STEWART. No. 307 Tenth Street, South Brooklyn. ppee wig’

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RRR Ste ot rage LM 5 i RRA a ad THE MIRACLES OF ST. ANNE 519 The Interior MIRACLE NO. V. About the end of August, 1881, George Mer- cure, a boy of nine years, was afflicted with an inflammation of the right eye which rapidly increased and utterly destroyed his sight. A very skilful physician, on examining the pa- tient, found, as he afterward testified in writ- ing, that it was a perforation of the cornea. of St. Anne's. He considered the case to be incurable, at least as to the recovery of sight. The parents of the little sufferer had recourse to Good St. Anne. They gave the child a blessed medal that had touched the holy relies, and he frequently ap- plied it to his eye. The use of remedies was abandoned and the family began a novena. Before it was over the inflammation had sen- sibly diminished, and the eye, which till then

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520 had been constantly closed, opened little by little and he began to distinguish various ob- jects. The cure was visibly advancing, and on April 17, 1882, the doctor who some months before had declared the case incurable testified over his signature that the child saw as well with the eye that had been affected as with the one that had remained healthy. These are fair samples of the mir- acles worked by Good St. Anne. “Did you see any of these miracles with your own eyes?” I asked the priest. “No; but I have the evidence you have seen of their truth.” Pilgrims at the Church. “Did you ever see a miracle per- formed by St. Anne with your own eyes ?” He hesitated, but finally owned that he had not, although he had officiated daily at the miraculous shrine for years. At eleven o’clock the pilgrims gath- ered again at the church for the proces- sion which takes place daily around the open square and through the heart of the village. In front walked a priest bearing a crucifix, acolytes were at his right and left bearing candles. Then ame several hundred pilgrims walking or hobbling four abreast, and then the sacred relic borne in a golden sanctu- ary three feet high, surmounted by a golden statue of St. Anne. Four priests carried this on their shoulders, while nine others followed with golden lan- THE MIRACLES OF ST. ANNE terns raised above their heads, the Father Superior walking last in vest- ments heavy with gold. Behind the priests came three or four hundred more pilgrims—men, women, and chil- dren—singing, as they moved along, “Ora pro nobis,” in response to the sentences which Father Mallenger in- toned from the centre of the square. Presently the father raised his voice in the words of an ancient hymn to St. Anne, the procession joining in the chorus after each stanza. As I heard it in the original French it was most in- spiring, the refrain, which swelled loud- er and louder, being Daignez, Sainte Anne, en un si beau jour De vos enfants agréer l'amour ! It is sometimes sung in English as follows : The sick, the afflicted, the lame, and the blind, The suff’ring, the erring, all solace here find ; O Good Saint Anne, we call on thy name, Thy praises loud, thy children proclaim, As pilgrims we come here to kneel at thy feet ; O grant what we ask thee, if for us ’tis meet. O Good Saint Anne, etc. There are many other couplets, as well as many other hymns, to St. Anne, usually sung in French. At the end of the procession Father

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THE MIRACLES OF ST. ANNE 521 Mallenger gathered the whole crowd, now thorough- ly excited, about him before the doors of the church and three times over they shout- ed after him : “ Vive la bonne St. Anne,” so loud that their shouts were heard to the outskirts of the village. At these moments of exaltation epileptics have frequently fallen in fits. After lunching in the scores of inns and hotels which form the chief indus- try of the place, the pilgrims returned to the church again for a service at two o'clock, in which they all knelt at the communion rails and kissed the relic as it was pre- sented to them by the priests. It was pathetic to see the de- votion of these kisses. Still, as far as I could see, there were no material results, and at 4.30 p.m. the pilgrims took the train for Quebec, confi- dent still in the power of Good St. Anne, although they carried their bodily ills home with them. On the ride back there was no more praying or reciting of “ Hail Mary’s,” but priests and nuns, young girls and with- ered men, all chatted and laughed as if they had come from a grand picnic. Most of them brought away some souvenir of their visit to the shrine, the most curious of these being little wafers of specially prepared paper which are designed to be eaten by the sick, and are sent by thousands all over the world. They are sold in sheets a foot square at so much a hundred, and while I was standing by an irreverent young American sauntered up to the booth where the sacred souvenirs are sold and asked for “ten cents’ worth of St. Anne postage-stamps.” Regarding the body of St. Anne and its burial place the little guide-book of Beaupré gives the following rather re- markable information : The Statue. St. Anne, after her holy death, was buried near Jerusalem, but later on her sacred re- mains were deposited in the Church of the Sepulchre of Our Lady, in the valley of Jehoshaphat. During the reign of the Roman emperor, Trajan, in the first century of Christen- dom, the venerable body of St. Anne, or rather the greater portion of it, was brought over to the town of Apt, in the diocese of Avignon (France), where it is still held in deep venera- tion. Concerning the removal of these pre- cious remains, it is reported that one day a mys- terious bark was seen to approach the shores of France. It had neither sail nor rudder, but God was its pilot. Never had the ocean borne a greater treasure. For in this bark were St. Lazarus with his two pious sisters, St. Mary Magdalen and St. Martha, together with several other saintly women. They were fleeing from

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522 THE MIRACLES OF ST. ANNE St. Anne and the Virgir By Lebrun Palestine, their country, carrying away with them a number of priceless relics, the most pre- cious among which was the hallowed body of St. Anne. This treasure was placed in the hands of St. Auspicius, the first Bishop of Apt, while the remaining relics were taken to Marseilles. However, on account of the reigning persecu- tions St. Anne’s body had to be buried in the cround to protect it against sacrilegious hands, and at length the place where it had been se- creted was wholly forgotten. A miracle caused the discovery of the hiding-place. The great Christian emperor, Charlemagne, had come one year to Apt, and while present on Easter-day at the office, as he himself wrote to Pope Adrian I., he suddenly beheld a young man enter the church, as if led by an unseen hand and seeming to be inspired. This young man was the son of Baron de Caseneuve and had been deaf and dumb from his birth. The crowd followed him to the altar-steps, and he there made signs that one of the flag-stones should be raised and the ground excavated beneath. The emperor ordered this to be done, ind at once rays of light were seen to issue from the wonderful spot. Then the bystanders beheld a miracle worthy of being forever re- membered. The noble young mute, instantly and perfectly cured, cried out: “ Itis she! It isshe!” The emperor and all the faithful with him fell on their knees and, through their tears, likewise cried out: ‘‘Itisshe! ” There was indeed no room for doubt ; the relics of St. Anne had been Ciscovered. On examining the reliquary case containing the body, the following words were found imprinted on the cloth that was wrapped around the relic : ** Here lies the body of St. Anne, mother of the glorious Virgin Mary.” This event took place in 792, and since that time the Shrine of St. Anne at Apt has always been celebrated and ever frequented by devout pilgrims. The Church of St. Anne de Beaupré, quite a new building, was only dedi- rated in 1889. Back of the altar is a fine painting by Lebrun, repre- senting St. Anne and the blessed Virgin. The chapel stands near the church and is chiefly remarkable for having been constructed from the stones of the old church, torn down to be re- placed by a larger edifice. So much for the shrine and the miracles of good St. Anne. It is not claimed that any visions or apparitions have ever been seen there. I myself saw nothing wonderful except the abso- lute faith of many intelligent people. I saw hundreds of pairs of crutches, quantities of spectacles, belts, trusses, and other objects supposed to have been left behind by pilgrims cured of their ls. Of course, these objects may have been placed in the church merely to deceive, but such a trick seems too simple to account for this deep-rooted and almost universal confidence. Dur- ing my stay in Quebec and Montreal I spoke with men of fine understanding, business men, journalists, politicians, all dispassionate observers, not likely to be superstitious and not particularly orthodox in their religious views. They one and all expressed their firm con- viction that the cures effected by Good St. Anne are not “all humbug,” not ordinary “faith cures,” and that things are happening at Beaupré every year which nobody has ever yet explained and which nobody can explain on a basis of what we call rational law.

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ARTISTS IN THEIR STUDIOS VII.—FRANK H. TOMPKINS By W. A. Cooper NE cannot go to Boston and () visit the galleries and public places, or go in and out among the little colony of artists there, without feeling the presence and influence of a great painter, Mr. Frank H. Tompkins, a comparatively young man whose pict- ures touch and arouse all the higher feelings. Mr. Tompkins is a man of large stature, and reminds one of Abraham Lincoln. He is a bachelor—his art has been all-absorbing, and he has lavished on her all his higher and better affec- tions. She is his wife. His pictures, his family. Although born in New York State, Mr. Tompkins’ early years were passed in Fairfield, O. As a child his inclinations were artistic. His first instructions were received at the Academy of Design, Cincinnati, O., un- der Thomas S. Noble. He studied next in New York under Mr. Walter Shirlaw, at the Art Students’ League. Then he went to Cleve- land, where he opened a studio and remained four years, and while he painted at this time some important pictures and many portraits, his ideal was a high one, and many years of hard study abroad lay between him and the realization of his hopes. This is necessary with the most gifted artist. But the years spent in Munich or Paris need not rob him of his individuality, nor his de- sire to paint American sub- jects. The habits formed at these art centres impress and in- fluence a man all his life. The studies he brings home from peasant models not to be had in this country, and the expe- rience he gains from the atmosphere about the students’ life there, are of in- estimable value as so much technical and practical knowledge. But it does not give him the gift of painting with feel- ing. That must come from within. Great pictures, like Millet’s “ Ange- lus,” or ‘‘ Breaking Home Ties,” by the late lamented Hovenden, which many will remember seeing at the World’s Fair, or the “Mother and Child” by Mr. Tompkins, know no nationality, but speak to the hearts of all people ; their The Little Mode!

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524 ARTISTS IN THEIR STUDIOS language is a universal one. This is true of all of Mr. Tompkins’ works paint- ed in Munich. They speak to the hu- man soul, and are as much American painting as if painted here with Ameri- can models. It was in Munich, between the years 1882 and 1887, that Mr. Tompkins studied seriously, under the immediate influence of that great German tech- nician, Professor Loefftz, who has since been ennobled by his government and appointed director of the Royal Acad- emy. We can judge of Mr. Tompkins’ artis- tic strength from the fact that the few drawings and paintings taken over with him admitted him at once to the life class, without his having to go through the course in the antique pursued by all students. These years spent in the Royal Acad- emy brought out and developed all of his latent qualities. And Munich, not Paris, best suited the sober, earnest soulfulness of his individuality. There is as much difference between the schools, Munich and Paris, as there is between the uncon- scious work of Mr. Tompkins and the pretty, soulless noth- ings painted by the average Frenchman. Perrault is pos- sibly the best of the French school, but he falls far short of Mr. Tompkins, whose work shows the perfect absence of affectation. At an exhibition of his pict- ures at the Boston Art Club, on his return from abroad to take up his permanent resi- dence in that city, Mr. William Howe Downs, one of the best art critics in New England, wrote in the Boston Tran- script of Mr. Tompkins and his work as follows : “Mr. Tompkins’ work im- presses the observer with the thoughtful, manly, and ele- vated standard he has set for himself, the intense sobriety and dignity of his art, and the constant endeavor to live up to a high ideal of expression The Young Mother. U

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The Worshippers.

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526 ARTISTS IN THEIR STUDIOS and of sentiment. . Mr. Tomp- kins has risen to the point of inspira- tion, and has shown the real depths of feeling of which he is capable in his ‘Mother and Child,’ a vision of as pure, tender, and beautiful sentiment as was ever put on canvas by an American artist.” over the shoulder of the mother, and falling on the face of the sleeping child, leaving the mother’s face in partial shadow, deep in mysterious musings. Professor Loefftz, his teacher, lacked in his works what was so strong in his pupil—feeling ; and would stand before pod The Yearly Market. The “‘ Mother and Child” here spoken of was purchased by the Boston Art Club, and now has the place of honor on its walls. The “Young Mother” is owned by ex-Governor Ames, of Massachusetts, and isa painting that would alone make the reputation of any artist. The light is wonderfully well handled, coming Mr. Tompkins’ paintings exclaiming ec- statically over their virtues. One of his old artist friends, who knew him in Munich, says: “In my judgment Mr. Tompkins’ work is, above all else, emphatically healthy, and the beauty that he is in sympathy with is of the kind that Balzac, of all writers, under- stood and loved best. The painter does qe

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qe ARTISTS IN THEIR STUDIOS 527 Morning not live who more sincerely loves art for its own sake than Tompkins. With his exquisite refinement of sentiment, coupled with sterling honesty of pur- pose, his work cannot be other than meritorious.” The “ Worshippers,” owned by Mr. Reese, of Brookline, is full of strength and sentiment, and depicts the two stages in life through which all must pass. The young, strong, anxious face of the girl is in fine contrast with the calm, resigned face of the older woman. The young girl does not show that re- ligious fervor of the young woman in “Good Friday,” a picture painted in this country, but representing a Bavar- ian custom. The crucifix is laid on the altar steps, and the zealous devotees prostrate themselves over it, touching with their lips the revered form of the Crucified One. Aside from the charm of light and color this picture possesses, the religious motive is profound, and touches with its great tenderness and pathetic appeal. Mr. Tompkins has painted many por- traits of prominent men, such as Pro- fessor Farmer, the inventor of our fire alarm and of telegraphing both ways over a single wire; and Mr. Charles Carlton Coffin, the writer.

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528 THE GOLD FIELDS OF THE SOUTH Mr. Tompkins Many of Mr. Tompkins most recent works are painted in a different vein from those we have spoken of, and the innate modesty of the man and the high standard he has placed for himself, have caused him to make a rule not to allow any illustration of pictures not sold ‘or not exhibited successfully. A large canvas is the “ Passing Show.” The circus has come to town. The streets are lined with an ex- pectant crowd. The parade is coming, headed by the clown on the sober donkey, followed by the glorious col- ored trappings of horses and chariots fading into the dis- tance. To the left is the prin- cipal group, some girls in fluffy white with bright para- sols and bits of ribbon in hat and dress, backed by high green foliage. Another of his recent works is a head of a young woman with a wealth and color of hair that Titian would have revelled in. The mass of light falls on her white bosom and gently suffuses the whole figure, while the bright color of the hair gives a bloom to the picture and enhances the pearly white of the flesh. That Mr. Tompkins pos- sesses great versatility is proved by the many gems that fill his studio — land- scapes, marines, wood inte- riors, and summer groups at the seaside, all painted with the feeling and breadth that characterize all of his works. During this season an exhibition of all of Mr. Tompkins’ paintings will be made at one of the leading galleries in New York, an event of much interest to students and lovers of American art. Here will be seen for the first time the entire collection of his works. THE GOLD FIELDS OF THE SOUTH By Lee J. Vance title of this article and lift their eyes with an air of surprise. Some may say: “ What! the gold fields of the South? I never heard of them. Where are they? Tell us something of this new El Dorado.” That is what the writer will do briefly in what follows. Let me say at the outset that we have Mit readers will glance at the found no new El Dorado. On the con- trary, the gold mines in the South are among the oldest in the United States. There are some in North Carolina that have been producing gold for nearly a full century. Now, it may not be generally known that, before the discovery of gold in Cali- fornia, the gold mines of North Caro-

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SaaeT REET Rc THE GOLD FIELDS OF THE SOUTH 529 lina and Georgia were regarded as among the most important and valuable in the Union. The output of the South was then not less than one million dol- lars’ worth of bullion every year, and among the first branches of the United States Mint to be established were those at Dahlonega, Ga., and at Charlotte, N. C. The gold mining industry of the South dates back to the last -century. The Reed mine in the southwestern part of North Carolina was the first one to give notoriety to the gold fields of the Ap- palachian range. Here the first nug- get was found in 1799, and here, also, the largest recorded nugget (weighing twenty-eight pounds avoirdupois) was taken in 1803. Fora period of fully half a century the Reed mine did not fail to pour forth a steady stream of nuggets, most of them large, fine, and of “great purity. Indeed, the proportion from this mine, both for size and for number, has never been equalled on this side of the continent. The Reed mine has not been actively worked of late years, but the writer is informed that preparations are now being made for placer work there on an extensive scale. Another noted mine is the Gold Hill mine, near Salisbury, N. C., in the same gold-bearing district with the Reed mine. It is the most extensive deposit in the State, and certainly has been the most profitable of all. The ores here occur in veins, which have ered on Duke’s Creek, Habersham Coun- ty, Ga., in 1829. The “find” was a nug- get weighing about three ounces. Some of the Georgia gold mines have been worked almost continuously for fifty years, and have made small fortunes for their owners. The most productive period of the Southern fields was before the discov- ery of gold in California, say from 1840 to 1850. Later on, the Civil War prac- tically put an end to all kinds of mining in the South. During the great conflict many of the gold mines were abandoned, and their shafts collapsed and filled with water. Some of these have never been re-opened, although in some cases they might now be profitably worked. The amount of gold produced by the Southern mines has never been accu- rately measured by the census, but the figures gathered last year by the United States Geological Survey show that the entire South has produced about $45,- 000,000,000 worth of gold since 1799, when the first nugget was taken from the Reed mine, in North Carolina. The two Carolinas and Georgia have pro- duced $43,000,000, as follows: North Carolina, $23,000,000 ; South Carolina, $4,000,000 ; and Georgia, $16,000,000. These are plain facts, taken from the cold type of the census, but to many people they may read like a page from fiction. A few words as to the extent of the been worked to a depth of seven hundred and fifty feet. At the present time they are not worked to full extent. Some idea of the value of the Gold Hill mine can be gained from the figures fur- nished to the writer by Pro- fessor J. A. Holmes, State Geologist, who says that not far from three million dol- lars of bullion have been taken from this mine since its opening. About as valuable and productive as the North Car- olina mines have been those of Northern Georgia, where there is a well-marked gold belt. Gold was first discov- Chilian Mill and Rockers, Gold Hill.

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530 THE GOLD FIELDS OF THE SOUTH gold fields of the South. The gold-pro- ducing districts follow in the main the line of the Appalachian range. The gold mines begin in the south-central part of North Carolina, extend across the western part of South Carolina and into Northern Georgia. There is a regular gold-bearing belt that stretches over the south-central part of North Carolina. This belt be- gins in Davidson County and extends seventy-five miles south-westwardly to the South Carolina border. There is an almost unbroken line of mines along this stretch. The Gold Hill district, at the begin- The constant finding of nuggets and gold ore in places which have been thoroughly prospected shows that the Southern gold fields have been (to use a common phrase) only scratched over. Every once in a while valuable “finds” are made. A few weeks ago the writer saw and handled the biggest nugget of gold found in North Carolina since the war. It was picked up, in August, by a little negro boy, who was washing gravel from the Crawford mine in Stanley Coun- ty, N. C. This lump of metal weighs a little over ten pounds, and is estimated to be worth about $2,100. Not less than ninety per cent. of the nugget is | Barnhardt Shaft and Eames Mill, Gold Hill, N.C. ning of the belt, is the most noted as well as the most productive part of the whole region. It is only a narrow strip of territory, about two miles long and one mile wide. In this district the veins have been more permanent than elsewhere, and the ores have been of high grade. There are ten well-defined veins in this region. One of these, the Barnhardt mine, is shown in the ac- companying illustration. pure gold, which shows forth bright and shining through the brownish sur- face coating. This mine was discovered in the summer of 1894 by a man who found a gold nugget at the root ofa tree that had blown down. The gold mines in Stanley County, N. C., are on the edge of what is known as the “ long-leaf pine belt.” This belt of timber, which is from fifty to one hun- dred miles in width, begins in North

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ERS & THE GOLD FIELDS OF THE SOUTH Carolina and extends to Florida, and even into Texas. It sup- plies the world with turpentine and naval stores. The finding of gold in the long- leaf pine district has been unexpected, as the tree flourishes in a dry, sandy soil, where gold is seldom found. The illustra- tion given herewith shows the long - leaf pine woods in the background, and is a typical Southern scene. The work at the mine is hydraulic. In some sections of the North Carolina gold belt the prec- ious metal is found in narrow “string veins.” These veins run through the rock in tiny lines, and within the space of one inch there are often as many as twenty of them. Some of the “string veins” are very rich for a limited dis- tance, and then run to low grade. A long reef of the slate filled with these “stringers” is worked by the usual hydraulic methods. The slate is broken and washed down by the force of the stream of water. Then the débris is carried through sluices, where the free gold is caught. The heavy pieces are saved and milled in the usual way, and finally treated by the chlori- nation process. In conclusion, we do not mean to be understood as ‘‘ booming” the gold Hydraulic Mining. or that any great fortunes will be made in a day. We do think, however, that there are gold- bearing fields in the South which, if worked on a modest scale with a cheap plant, will yield large returns on the investment. There is to-day renewed interest in many of these gold-mining properties of the South. The recent discoveries have directed the attention of capitalists to the fields which had been neglected. In several places in North Carolina and Georgia, companies and individuals have purchased large tracts of mining prop- erty, which will be developed by im- fields of the South, We have no idea proved methods and the most modern that any bonanzas will be discovered, processes. __ ae a “

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MUSIC IN AMERICA * VII.—AMERICAN GRAND OPERA: BRUNO OSCAR KLEIN MONG the many things we Yankees A frankly pride ourselves on, a small place is given to the early recog- nition accorded what little genius the effete monarchies of the Old World give birth to. Robert Franz, for instance, admitted sadly that his first apprecia- tion came from us. We were about the first to take Robert Browning seriously. Paderewski, too, found his first crown of glory among the bushels of dollars he reaped over here, before he was able to draw the unstinted praises of foreign critics, and the rec- ord-breaking dimensions of foreign au- diences. It would not be hard to multiply instances ; but convincing the already convinced is vain labor. We do not so frequently brag about the other side of the question — the earlier recognition abroad of American genius. We do not like to talk about the artists thrown out of our galleries and lauded in Paris; about singers starving over here and acclaimed night- ingales abroad ; about a Walt Whitman, jeered and suppressed in America and hailed as a prophet in Europe ; about countless incidents of this unpleasant nature. And all this is prompted by the memory that an American composer had to travel to Germany to get his grand opera performed, and that he found there liberal praise and success. American Grand Opera is a title of more sonority than content. In this form of musical expression we have done practically nothing. And there is no encouragement to do more. Theo- retically our critics long for it; but an honest attempt will find as little mercy and encouragement at their hands as if it challenged all the masterworks of the past. The composer who should take a grand opera to a local manager would never get over the door-sill. If the * This series began in the May number. The musi- cians discussed have been Ethelbert Nevin, Dudley Buck, E. A. MacDowell, Arthur Foote, C. B. Hawley, and W. H. Neidlinger, The Cleveland Colony (Wilson G. Smith, Johann Beck, James H. Rogers, etc.). Portraits, autographs, and examples of the music of each com- poser have been given. composer brandished a long purse, he might get a tawdry production at a gaudy price, but the world of music has few long purses to exchange for expe- rience. We may have one native grand opera performed this season. It has lain in manuscript for a few years, but its com- poser is now a man of autocratic influ- ence, and “ The Scarlet Letter,” by Mr. Walter Damrosch, will soon give the anxious critics a chance to try their steel. But it is a rare composer that has his own orchestra, troupe, and opera- house. The other American grand opera can be called American: only by a gnat- straining camel-swallower. But as that term fits all of us at times, I take the liberty of ysing, as an excuse for this Mr. Klein.

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‘MUSIC IN AMERICA discussion, Mr. (I had almost said Herr) Bruno Oscar Klein’s opera, ‘“ Kenil- worth,” a German libretto based on an English novel, produced at Hamburg by an intendant named Pollini, and with a soprano named Klafsky. Mr. Klein was born in Hanover, studied in Munich, and has been in this land of the free since early manhood. [If all this is not cosmopolitan conglomerate of a particularly American stratum, then what could be ? Occasional rumors of other grand operas by Americans flit through the quietude of our creative activity ; but even they are rare. Mr. E. A. Mac- Dowell promises the completion of a grand opera, and it will doubtless be something as novel as it is noble. Word comes also from Boston of the progress of a work, whose libretto is by Ather- ton Brownell, Esq., and whose music is entrusted to Mr. Louis Adolphe Coerne, a native composer of unusual achieve- ments and promise. The scene is to be laid at Marblehead, and the opera will possess a double interest from its Amer- icanism. It is to be written on the lines of the so-called music-drama, doubtless as developed by Richard Wagner. This evolution of operatic art, Mr. Klein, however, has the courage not to accept in its entirety. Like any sane man of ordinarily decent fairness, he extols Wagner as a wonder-worker ; yet he is no Wagner-maniac. He believes that Wagner alone could completely justify the Wagnerian theories, while his self-styled disciples catch only the letter of his principles and not their spirit. The infinite invention that (al- most) saved the ‘‘endless melody ” of the Bayreuth operas from tedium, is lack- ing in the work of his bigoted disciples, and the result is woful. Nothing short of absolute genius could have thrust the Wagnerian operas, in their entirety, down the public throat. Shakespeare is abbreviated for modern audiences. An hour should be cut out of almost every work of Wagner’s. The next century will do this. No human artist has a right to put his audience to such tests of emotional—yes, and physical—endur- ance as these great works demand. A part can never equal the whole. So, great as Wagner is, he is not everybody ; 533 he does not annihilate preceding or ri- val schools. ‘Tristan ” does not destroy the perennial charm of “ Don Giovanni.” The world of art would be poor without Brunhilde, but neither can it spare the Marguerite of Gounod. It is silly to laugh at the inconsistency of fioritura in the mad-song of Lucia, and sneer at the mutual impoliteness of two lovers duet- ting with perfect disregard of : each other’s right to the floor, unless you are beautifully and perfectly consistent, and forego opera altogether. The whole thing requires an appalling amount of license, anyway. What could be more in- consistent than for Isolde to sing her woes over the body of herdead lover? Yet what could be more beautiful? Recita- tive is precious little of a truce with con- sistency, and melody is no more implau- sible. The artist that is perfectly consist- ent is apt to be little else. You might paraphrase Charles Lamb’s quotation into “All consistent and all damned!” Though, of course, consistency is a good enough thing when it isn’t in the way. The cause of all this is to emphasize my belief that, while reverencing Wag- ner as the greatest of all writers of grand opera, it is neither true nor de- sirable to deny him radical faults of method, nor is it right to set him up as the one gospel of orthodoxy. His friends hurt his cause more than his enemies. The great public, always right after time for digestion, has placed him on one of the peaks of many-peaked Parnassus. But he can- not monopolize the mountain. So, when Mr. Klein chooses to write an opera according to his own ideals, dis- agreement with Wagner is not, per se, any objection to his work. Mr. Klein, as I have said, is an Amer- ican, not by mere accident of birth, but by mature choice. He was born June 6, 1858, at Osnabriick in Hanover. His father was a distinguished musician, and was his sole teacher, save for a short course at the Munich School of Music. Mr. Klein displayed great pre- cocity, composing songs and a string quartette by the time he was fourteen. At the age of seventeen Liszt sent him a note of “respect” for some. of his published works. When he was nine- teen he came to the United States, and

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' } { | ' has since remained here, serving as or- ganist for the last ten years at St. Fran- cis Xavier’s Church, and as first teacher of the piano at the Academy of the Sacred Heart. The last three years he has taught counterpoint anil composi- tion at the National Conservatory. His opera, “ Kenilworth,” was pro- duced first at the Stadt Theatre, in Hamburg, February 13th of this year. The great soprano, Frau Klafsky, chose it for her benefit performance, and it was produced in superb style by the great impresario Pollini. It achieved a most genuine success and strengthened its esteem with each performance. The libretto, by William Mueller, Esq., of New York, follows Sir Walter Scott closely, and gives Mr. Klein full play for the fiery climactic music natural to him. The piano score was published in Leipzig before the performance, and was soon completely sold out. A sec- ond and revised edition is now on the presses. The curtain rises on the usual oper- atic tavern-scene ; we have a drinking- song, and the act ends with a vesper chorus with bell accompaniment. Aside from these tritenesses, the work is fresh and unhackneyed toa high degree. A very beautiful orchestral prelude tells thematically the story of the opera. Before the curtain rises, an unaccom- panied choral is heard; the rise dis- closes Goldthread, whose melodious solo is the real beginning of the opera. Af- ter this lively number the lorn young Tressilian breaks into an impassioned recitative, whose first few strains dis- close a superb -mastery over this dan- gerous weapon. In the ariose decla- mation that follows, there are occasional touches of the color we are wont to as- sociate with Wagner, and occasional bits of his characteristic plaintiveness in recitative, but the work is otherwise notably original. In the “ Landsknechtlied ” of this act Mr. Klein uses the goodly sturdy ballad-style of old Germany. It is noteworthy in passing that Mr. Klein does not employ the “leading motive ” with any of the cyclopedic complexity of Wagner. His manner is that of the earlier and better Wagner. The intermezzo between the first and 534 MUSIC IN AMERICA second acts (the first and second scenes according to the first edition) contains some absolutely new colors of striking interest. The Romanza of Amy Robsart occurs in this act, and the accompani- ment is ‘illed with richest harp-effects. The scene between Amy and 7 ressilian is wild - fire, beginning with tender home-pleadings, like the duet of José and Michaelain “Carmen,” and work- ing up into a fury of dramatic effect. Mr. Klein has a marvellous ability for climax. The third act leads soon into the grand duet of Amy and Leicester, vi- brant with love and passion—a truly great work. And the beauty of the last movement, with the voices melting harmoniously together, is only another proof of the rapturous glory of oper- atic inconsistency. Varney’s ‘ Song of the Storm” is a wild outburst of that class which is especially effective in the concert-room. It seems something of an interpolation here. Now follows a Grand March—the entrance of Queen Elizabeth. It is more artistic than marches usually are, and has a most interesting Scottish trio. The recita- tive of Queen Elizabeth, in which she acknowledges the ovation, is a wee bit cheap. The following quintet, however, between Elizabeth, Amy Robsart, Var- ney, Leicester, and Susser is sufficient atonement. It is worthy of compari- son with the famous quintet from “ Die Meistersinger,” not because of reminiscence, but because of its rivalry in power, and the skill with which the scattered strands are gathered at length into a noble chain of gold. The quin- tet is also enforced at the last with the full chorus. The Vorspiel to Act III. is full of art and sincerity, with a slight reminiscence of the intermezzo of “Cavalleria Rusti- cana.” The curtain rises on a moonlight scene. From the sea comes a barca- rolle serenade for chorus with a deli- cious accompaniment of mandolins. Lei- cester makes love to the Queen, and she, dismissing him, breaks into an ecstatic song, whose final cadenzas and frank jio- ratura would turn Wagner in his grave. But these flutings have their place in music. They are malapropos in serious moods, but they express welling, irre- pressible gayety as nothing else can.

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Song of the Harp-Girl. Lied des Harfenmadchens. from “Immensee”™ (Storm.) (Symply but very expressive.) Einfach, aber sehr ausdrucksvoll. On. ly to- day, love Heu-te, nur heu - te al : > my fair: Ah! on no mor-row Will love's light be there. bin’ ich soschén, morgen ach muss Al - les_ver-gehin; mae + For but this hour Thou art my own; Nur die-se Stun-de bist du noch mein, hen must | Ster-ben, ach ster-ben muss ich al -lein! — lan P F an Copyright hy G. Schirmer. 1883. From Mr. Klein's ‘‘ Song Album, No. 1.”

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. 536 MUSIC IN The later scene, where Elizabeth dis- covers Leicesler’s devotion to Amy Rob- sart, her rage and Leicester’s grief, are worked up by the librettist in a succes- sion of climaxes which Mr. Klein’s gen- ius has enforced with an overwhelming power. The death of Amy in the last act is the climax of climaxes, rang- ing from raging grief to smothered sorrow. Leicester's agony is expressed with soaring inspiration, and the opera ends beautifully, superbly, with Tressil- ian’s almost cheerful cry of hope in a future world. Now that it has proved both an ar- tistic and a financial triumph abroad, it surely seems that. some managerial speculator could find courage enough to give American audiences a taste of the noble work. Foreign successes rarely fail here, and “Kenilworth ” seems pos- sessed of every quality to make it both sure and worthy of most enthusiastic ac- ceptance. Having spent so much space on opera in general, and “ Kenilworth” in partic- ular, it is necessary to give the fine quality of the other works scant atten- tion. Anyone seeing the absolute fi- delity, and complete equality, to the expression of strongest contrasts of emotion in Mr. Klein’s dramatic aria, “‘Ingeborg’s Lament,” could have proph- esied Mr. Klein’s fitness for an operatic career. His setting of Heine’s ballade, “The Pilgrimage to Kevlaar” discloses the same qualities in a smaller degree. It would be hard to find a better ex- ample of Mr. Klein’s melodic resources, his originality and fearlessness, than the “Harp-Girl’s Song,” reproduced here. Other especially good pieces of work are his tantalizing ‘‘ Serenade,” his “Love Song,” the rich simplicity of AMERICA “To the Loved One Far Away,” and the poéme d’amour, “ Were I the Sun,” full of wild climaxes and ending with startling effect on an unresolved ninth chord. Of his piano works, the sonata, opus 10, and his suite, opus 25, are ranked by such an authority as Dr. William Mason among the finest specimens of modern piano literature. I have not seen the sonata, but the suite does not appeal to ine particularly. The prelude is too much like Chopin’s Polish Etude, and is hardly so big as noisy. The Tema con Variazioni, in spite of certain brilliancy of effect at times, is built on rather con- ventionallines. The Elegia seems rather cold and thin. The catchy Gavotte alone seems to be written with enthusiasm, and even it is longer drawn out than its subject warrants. This is always the danger of writing in the ponderous clas- sic forms. Our impatient modern life needs a one-volume suite, just as it calls a halt on the three-volume novel. It is too evident that the composer has said, ‘Go to, I am nobody till I write a sonata or a suite.” The thought is father to the wish. The orchestral Scenes de Ballet, opus 19, transcribed for the piano, are more valuable far. No. 1, though strongly suggestive of Grieg’s “ Anitra’s Dance,” is superb in its elaborateness and fire, and its ending is haughty with effect. No. 2 is a genuine inspiration, and No. 3 is highly original and quaint. The Danse Bohémienne, opus 35, and the Romance, opus 39, are remarkably orig- inal in their crowded, smothering har- mony. Among Mr. Klein’s best works are five piano pieces based on verses by Heine, “ Dreams,” opus 20. Mr. Mac-

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DOROTHY SARGENT Dowell’s tone-poems in this style are familiar. Two important violin pieces make up opus 20; they are full of violin ability, and the accompaniments have more attention than is usual in these pieces. A perfect work of its kind is “Le Secret d’Amour,” a musical “ dialogue” of rarest tenderness and sincerity. The Valse Impromptu is, like most of the pieces of this character, vanity. The Valse Noble, however, is a glittering ex- ception, full of the amorous tenderness a waltz should never lack. It is, to me, the best Valse since Chopin. The Capri- 537 cietto, opus 40, is a most deftly handled bit of odd accentuation. This last summer has been a very busy one for Mr. Klein. He has written an Italian suite, opus 50, and at least fifteen piano pieces, all of which will be printed before this is. A new suite for ‘cello is to be played by the celebrated Josef Hollman this year abroad. He is highly enthusiastic over its beauty. A concert piece and a concerto, dedicated respectively to Emil Liebling and Ra- fael Joseffy, will be played in the con- certs of the Thomas Orchestra and else- where this winter. DOROTHY SARGENT * By Isabel Bowman Finley told you, that my Miss Wick- ford—the school-teacher of my imagination—was in reality Dorothy Wickford Sargent, of unlimited wealth, and, consequently, lost to me forever, I sank into a state of utter indifference. No bomb-throwing anarchist revolted more fiercely at the thought of another’s wealth than I did at thought of Miss Wickford’s, or rather, Miss Sargent’s— the name I could never call her by in “my mind. Just at this time the preliminary skirmishing for the Presidential cam- paign began. “Reform” was the cry all over the land, and I threw myself into the movement with the despera- tion of a man disgusted with himself and determined to be of use; and I worked hard addressing meetings and organizing clubs. Yet there were times when the longing to see her was be- yond all reason and control ; and I rode to the Park, watching each trap with covert eagerness in the hope that her face might shine out from it on the blackness of my depression. I rarely saw Miss Wickford, and, when she saw me, she gave me the same courteous, in- different bow of the casual acquaintance she had bestowed on me in Grace Wick- [sia 5 found, as I have already *Sequel to “Under the Apple-Trees on Paradise Road,” published in the March number. ford’s drawing-room. It always had the effect of making me set my teeth and call myself a single but expressive name, driving me back to work with greater vehemence. It is needless to say that I had no time for amusements except where cir- cumstances absolutely required it. Such was the ball given by Van Sie- ward, a shining light in the social and political world. Courtesy, as- well as liking for the man, caused me to accept his invitation, and the first person with whom I danced was Grace Wickford. “What a lovely speech you made the other night!” she exclaimed, in her volubly enthusiastic manner; ‘“ down on the Bowery, you know. Oh! you needn’t look so surprised. I was com- ing home from one of our mission sprees, and the carriage couldn’t pass for the crowd ; I was provoked at first, but when I saw who it was speaking, I was so glad it had happened and I put my head out of the window and listened with all my ears, and Dorothy had her head out of the other window listening too—Dorothy was with me, you know. You’ve made me crazy about reform now, and I want to vote ever so much. I told papa he must get us women suf- frage in some way, even if he has to bring it from the West—they tell me they always have those things out there

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2 24 nap cagearecrs RS 538 DOROTHY SARGENT first, you know; though of course Id rather have it from London or Paris. I clapped as loud as I could, and Doro- thy—no, Dorothy didn’t clap, she said —-no, she didn’t say anything either ; she just drew a long breath as if she had seen a sky-rocket go up and——” —‘ Dissolve into a stick. Thank you!” I said, gayly. For the first time in our acquaintance I found her delightful. ‘“'Thatsigh was evidently one of relief; the dose was over.” “Now, you know it wasn’t anything of the kind! There she is now, I'll prove it to you. Dorothy.” “No, no,” I said, hurriedly. ‘“ You have said it—your word before the world’s,” and a few more protestations, uttered with a sufficient air of devotion, turned her from her purpose. But for all my apparent interest in Miss Wickford, I was fully absorbed in Miss Sargent’s entrance into the room. If I had thought her fascinating in the simplicity of her summer gowns, she was brilliant now in the beauty of her ball dress. Her high-bred ease, the inde- finable sense of ideal refinement and dignity that enveloped her, her bright good-humor, set her above and apart from all other women ; wherever she went she was bound to be the target for all eyes.* Our host, a widower, was well known to have made up his mind that she should be the second Mrs. Van S.; and, whatever other motive he might ascribe for giving the ball, it was easy to see that it was really held in her honor, and bets were offered and taken that when it was over she would have refused or accepted him. I must con- fess I was wretchedly miserable. Rea- son and common-sense urged me to leave, but an insane anxiety held me back—I must watch Van Sieward’s face to learn whether he had won heaven or been cast into theother place. Host as he was, though, he was not allowed a monopoly, and his opportunity, I mean- ly rejoiced to see, would not be easily obtained. The ball was about half over when, anathematizing myself for a fool, I turned to go, and was stopped by Bob- by Field’s catching my arm and ex- claiming, hurriedly : “ Make my excuses to Miss Sargent for the next dance, will you? father’s been taken ill at the club. You'll find her in the con- servatory,” and he rushed off. Perhaps [ should have passed the message on to another man ; perhaps I should have had more self-respect than to expose myself to the chance of being snubbed ; perhaps, and perhaps, yes, but—I was in love, and, although I told myself I went reluctantly, I was glad of the excuse to speak to her, and every pulse throbbed. I found her in the conservatory as Fields had said. She was one of a party of four, seated on Oriental divans in an encompassing hedge of tropical green. As I approached, and the opening bars of the next dance reached them, Miss Sargent’s partner and the other couple rose and returned to the ball-room, leav- ing us alone. I explained my mission as briefly as I could, and Miss Sargent expressed her sympathy with the Fields ; then a pause, which I broke by asking, in my most politely indifferent manner. (while my heart beat almost audibly), if she cared to dance. “Thank vou,” she replied, with equally polite indifference, “ but it is so delight- fully restful here I prefer remaining. Don’t let me detain you, however,” she added, a little more hurriedly, as I made no motion to go; “I shall enjoy being alone.” Resting against the yellow cushions, soft lace falling around bare neck and arms, the tinted light from the flower- shaped incandescent lamps raining down over her like the glow of a showery sun- set, her gray eyes more brilliant if less soft than in the summer, but just as in- scrutable, just as fascinatingly enig- matic, she would have held the atten- tion of the coldest man in Christendom, and, alas! I was not that man. If I had been fastened in the stocks it would not have been more impossible for me to go. ‘“* Miss Sargent,” Isaid, with a sudden mad resolve, standing in front of her, “T have been told on good authority that you are very charitable, that no one with a story of need ever appeals to you in vain ; therefore I am tempted to- night to appeal to you on account of a man who is in great distress—‘a mind

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DOROTHY diseased,’ overburdened with self-con- demnation, forbidden expiation. The saints surely turn a pitying ear to the cries of the condemned ?” She brushed a rose-leaf from her lap with her fan. ‘ You speak in riddles,” she said, coldly, without looking up at me. “T will speak in plain English if you will grant me permission.” “You are obscure. For what am I to grant permission, and why should I be made the victim of another’s bur- dens ?” “If you will let me tell you the story you will understand.” “A story isit? I was afraid it might bean allegory. I dislike allegories, they are mostly failures.” “No, not an allegory, yet none the less a failure in the best sense: it is the story of a life. May I go on? In the name of charity I ask it.” For a fraction of time she hesitated. “Why not?” she said, with a slight shrug of her shoulders as if to cover a “ hesitation, which would have betrayed more than she cared to acknowledge. * Since you ask in that name, so be it.” I bowed my thanks and sat down op- posite her. It was very well done, but I could have wished that she bad shown more awkwardness in the part. Un- noticed she had dropped her fan, and I picked it up and played with it that I might not watch her face as I talked. Then, as briefly as I could, I told her the story of an only child, selfishly brought up ; of financial wreck and con- sequent social extinction ; of the death of parents and the adoption of the child by an uncle whose only gods were so- ciety and wealth ; of the inculcation of their worship in the boy, the youth, the young man; of a latent spark of manli- ness in him, though, which revolted at leading the life of an idler at another man’s expense, however much that other might desire it ; of his studying law and his success in that profession ; of his moral obliquity, which saw in marriage nothing more than a cross-cut to wealth and a wider grasp at the world’s prizes and the power to retaliate on the world, through it, for the humiliations his mother had suffered on the loss of hers —nothing was concealed, not ‘even the SARGENT 539 fact that her cousin, Grace Wickford, had been thought of as a possible victim for this mercenary sacrifice. So far I had tried to speak quietly, without emotion, and so far had suc- ceeded ; but I could not keep my voice to the one tone when I came to the new life which had revealed itself to him the previous summer under the apple-trees on Paradise Road, when, for the first time, he had stood face to face with Nature—Nature untrammelled and un- bedizened by society’s paint-pot ; how life and the world had taken on new features, new garments, and, heart and soul and mind had expanded in this fresh, sweet atmosphere, which, after all, seemed but a preparation of the way for the entry into his destiny of the woman he was to love forever. She ealled her- self—here I paused. Miss Sargent raised her hand to readjust a flower in her corsage. “Have you the right,” she asked, coldly (and yet there seemed a suspicion of quickened breath under the words), “to mention her name ? ” “To you assuredly, as I believe you know her as only one woman can know another. She called herself—Dorothy Wickford. She was a revelation to him, that, unconsciously, all his life, he had had an ideal, and it had been that ideal which had held him back from attempt- ing a mercenary marriage. Unknow- ingly he loved her, and with the inten- sity of a man’s first and only love ; yet, when the time came to reveal it, the very strangeness of the emotion, the old habit of caution and reserve, had sealed his lips and he had lost his throw for happiness and honor. She passed out of his life, but not his heart, his hopes ; and searching for her through- out the length and breadth of the city he dreamed sweet dreams of a possible forgiveness, a possible expiation, only to have his hopes annihilated by finding that she was more’ than Dorothy Wick- ford in name, and one of the richest women in the State. ‘““What he suffered then,” I went on, the music of the mandolins surging to us from the ball-room, softly, loudly, softly again, like the sobbing of dying hopes, “I cannot describe and you would not, could not, understand. Al-

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540 though she could deny him the joy of her friendship, the fulfilment of his dreams, she could not take from him memory nor the awakening of his soul which her ideals and arguments had called into life. And it is for this reason especially I speak to you of him to- night; he would have you say to Miss Wickford (for as she was baptized to his love so must she always remain to him) that though she has crushed within him all personal hope and happiness, she has left him a wider outlook at humanity, a contempt for his past, and the determination to retrieve it in the future ; that although there are moments when, in his revolt from Fate, he curses the accident of their meeting, for the greater part he blesses it as his redemp- tion. Surely no woman, no true woman, can regard such a message as an insvlt, or with contempt ?” She did not answer immediately ; when she did, she said, quietly: “ Such things are a true woman’s Legion of Honor.” I bowed, I could say no more. In- deed there was nothing more to say. Then I knew that she was looking at me intently, questioningly maybe, as if she would read my very mind; her hand moved, and for the flash of a breathless second I thought she was going to ex- tend it to me, but it fell again and she rose with an air of weariness. ‘“ Hadn’t we better go back?” she said, with a little shiver. “It is chilly in here ; our host’s new nickel pipes must be a fail- ure.” The movement, the accent, and the sight of Van Sieward advancing toward us with a face of eager expectation, brought me back from the world of romance and emotion to the cold reality of my exclusion from competition, and I inwardly raged. “I don’t doubt,” I growled, “ that if you tell him so he will replace them with gold ones to-morrow.” She gave a low laugh. “ What a magnificent idea. We are planning to out-Rome old Rome,” she continued to Van Sieward, forcing him, by overlook- ing his pause, to turn and go back with us. “ What do you say to gold and silver furnaces and pipes? I shall have mine jewelled and the hot air per- fumed ;” and thus, talking nonsense DOROTHY SARGENT without pause, she reached the security of the ball-room, frustrating Van Sie- ward’s cherished plan to remain ¢éte-d- téte with her in the conservatory. I could appreciate his feelings. “My fan,” she said to me, holding out her hand. I opened mine, showing the broken sticks. “I have made of it,” I said in a voice too low to reach the men who were gathering around her, “ what you have made of my happiness—a wreck.” Our eyes met. Thrusting the wrecked fan into my pocket I turned and left the room. I had a fan of my mother’s—a rem- nant of her prosperity—which I cher- ished as one of my most precious relics. It was of white satin, creamed with age, the sticks most delicately and elabor- ately carved, the outer ones mounted in finely wrought silver. I took this toa friend, a famous artist, and got him to paint across the plain satin a spray of apple-blossoms. “At last?” he asked meaningly, as he signed it, giving the bit of art a fabulous value. I shook my head in hopeless denial. I sent the fan to Miss Sargent without other hint as to the donor than the apple-blossoms, thus forcing her to keep it, or, by returning it, acknowledge her identity as Miss Wickford. It was not returned. I saw no more of her after that, all my time through the summer and fall being absorbed by politics. Reform had taken such firm and enthusiastic hold of the people that, when November came, our man swept the country on a very tidal wave of vict As a result of this victory I found myself, the fol- lowing March, one of the Cabinet, and in April as completely gone to pieces from the long strain as a cracked egg. My resignation was not accepted and I was advised to take a month’s complete rest. “What you’ve got to do,” said my doctor, with brisk authority, “is to clear out of this right off and not worry about work you can’t do—you have a good assistant, and every newspaper in the country will run your office for you with the greatest pleasure. The place for you is down in Mississippi, on the Gulf coast, where you can lie in the sun out on the long wharves over the water, and not hear a sound but the waves on

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DOROTHY SARGENT the beach and the wind in the pines. You can have splendid fresh and salt water fishing and good crabbing—but be sure you get 2, pretty girl in a Pass sun-bonnet to help you catch those crabs,” etc. As long as I was not called on to think and act for myself I didn’t care an atom what became of me ; so, without conscious volition, entirely by the doctor’s and my man’s efforts, I found myself at Pass Christian, lying out on the hotel wharf, drinking in the soothing, health-giving breeze. More than that was beyond my strength and inclination. The lethargy of weakness held me fast. However, about four days after my arrival, something happened that made life loom up again as a thing worth fighting for. I was sitting on the gal- lery of the Mexican Gulf Hotel when the van drove up with the passengers from the Eastern Express, and I watched them alight with the same want of in- terest with which I looked at every- thing. First came two maids, laden with satchels and shawl-straps, then two el- derly women, one tall and one short, followed by two jaded-looking girls, and then—my pulses woke into life with a sudden throb. The world was certainly small when Miss Sargent and I could meet again so unexpectedly in this gar- den spot of Mississippi ! She came up the steps leading her party and I waited, quivering for the moment of recognition. She glanced at me as ata stranger, hesitated a mo- ment, started to pass, looked again ; and an expression of surprise swept over her face, to be followed by one of intense pity. She hastily approached me with outstretched hand. “Don’t rise,” she said, quickly, as I made an ef- fort to do so, “ lam only going to pause to congratulate you on your recovery ; I saw by the papers how much better you were, but they stated that you had gone to Florida. It is delightful to find a home face to welcome one in this strange land, and, as you are, no doubt, an old inhabitant by now, you will have to take us in charge. Later I want to introduce you to my friends and cous- ins,” and with the friendliest of little nods and smiles she disappeared into the hotel. - 541 That very night, as ill-luck would have it, the local brass band serenaded me. They had considerately waited several days to give me time to recover from the fatigue of the journey, but I fervently wished they had come before Miss Sar- gent’s arrival ; for I, who had faced mul- titudes from the platform without a tremor, shrank like a nervous youngster from appearing as a public character be- fore her in my present forlorn condition. To make matters worse, the proprietor of the hotel hospitably invited the band into the office, and there, in the blaze of lights, with no friendly shadows to give me refuge, when “Daisy Bell” and ** Dixie” had come to a close, I pulled myself together and expressed my thanks for the compliment paid my office and myself, excusing myself from a speech on grounds that were only too evident, feeling miserably conscious the while that I must look more like a clothes rack than a man to Miss Sargent’s criti- cal eyes fixed upon my back. When the band withdrew I slipped away to my room only to keep sleep at bay with tor- turing thoughts of the wretched figure I had cut and how brilliant I might have been if circumstances had allowed me. I knew then that I looked like death and resented her advances accordingly. However, as the days went by I found myself one of Miss Sargent’s party, tak- ing long drives through the pine-forests, or up and down the shell road, villa- lined on one side, Gulf-washed on the other and shaded on both by giant oaks and magnolias, or fishing for green trout in the palmetto-fringed bayous, crabbing from the hotel wharf, or sailing in a small cat-boat I had hired for my exclusive use during my stay, filling up intervals with rowing and tennis. Or, when we tired of sport, we lounged under the big oak in the hotel yard, or down on the warm white sand, while Miss Sargent read aloud, the reading generally evoking a spirited ar- gument in which the others sometimes took part, though Miss Sargent and I had it generally to ourselves. It was the old delicious intercourse of Paradise Road come again, with the addition of a chorus and an undercurrent of emotion- al probabilities. The two fagged -looking girls, Miss

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Small and Miss Martin, teachers, one of elementary music, the other of mathe- matics—worn out in nerves and body, and rescued from a living death by Miss Sargent’s bringing them South on the plea that she feared the hard spring for her cousins and wanted their compan- ionship and assistance in their exile— expanded magically in this new life of idleness and luxury. Their faces took on flesh and color and they became what Nature intended they should be— sweet, bright, fun-loving girls. The two old women, who were soon rid of their coughs, took me under their es- pecial care, fussing over me and lectur- ing me on my reckless want of prudence, while Miss Sargent looked on with sup- pressed amusement. To me she was all “Miss Wickford ” again—gentle, teasing, mocking, sympa- thetic—until it seemed “my dream had never died, or lived again ;” and in this enchanted atmosphere the days flashed by, radiant, idyllic. Prose became a pastoral, I took no thought for the fut- ure; indeed, in this land where “all things rest ’ there is no future, the pres- ent is all of time, and one even dreams through it. Saturated with this bewitchment of indolence I lay on the sand one morn- ing, Miss Sargent sitting near me, idly turning the leaves of the book she had been reading aloud to us. We were alone for the moment. I drew a long breath of utter content. “Tt were good to die now,” I said. Miss Sargent stopped fingering the book and looked at me. “ Are you feeling so very bad?” she asked, quick- ly. * On the contrary, I am feeling well, so well, so bewitched by the beauty of my surroundings, so content with the world and myself, that I am sure it would be sweet to pass away at sucha supreme moment before its reaction could shatter its perfect bliss.” “ For the delight of such a moment I should say it were sweeter to live.” * Doubtless, if it were not for the re- action behind it, but that can’t be es- eaped. You, I should judge, know noth- ing of reactions, and therefore can’t appreciate their ghoulish power.” “‘ Judging from your position you are DOROTHY. SARGENT stronger than they ; why do you fear them ?” “Simply because position isn’t every- thing. What do you suppose the ma- terial successes of life are worth to a man alone in the world? A man who, outside of his own first selfish gratifica- tion, hasn’t a single heart to be glad- dened by them, a single soul made proud.” “But his friends! He has his friends.” “Friends? Can a prosperous man count his friends? Doesn’t he have to wait for the judgment-day of defeat and poverty to know the sheep from the goats?” “You are bitter.” “Tam what the world has made me; the lessons it gave me to learn were not those of sweetness and light. There are only three things in the world a man can’t buy; he can’t buy fame as an author or an artist, and he can’t buy— love.” “Ah, but you have seen the worst side of the world ; there is a better side, aside honest, sincere, charitable, the side of honor that can’t be bought, the side of the helpers, the——” “In short, Miss Sargent’s side. Yet who is harder in her judgment than Miss Sargent ?” “T?” in great astonishment. “You,” calmly. *T can’t recall any “To the poor you are merciful with- out reserve, to your own class you are relentless.” . “You are certainly better this morn- ing!” “Like most righteous judges, doubt- less, you do not keep a record of your sentences in your mind ; it is the con- demned who remember and—revolt.” “You are decidedly better, you are epigrammatic.” / « A man who makes epigrams is not a man who revolts, and I am in revolt.” “And but a moment ago you were dying of content!” “This is the reaction of which I warned you.” We spoke as if in jest, yet I could see that she was uneasy of the suspicion of earnestness that underran my words. It was asuperb morning. The Gulf was ”

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dazzling in the brilliant sunlight ; a lug- ger went skimming by before the light breeze that had a touch of summer in it ; the air was full of the scent of flow- ers. “Yet my revolt,” I went on, “is not a wicked one, but a good one; I want to know the better side, I want some per- sonal interest, I want someone to be- lieve there are better things in me and help me to bring them to light.” “T imagine there are many evangel- ists who would be glad to undertake the good work.” “Many, perhaps, but the one, the one! What of the one?” I raised myself on my elbow and, looking at her, threw an exaggerated amount of entreaty into my words. “Do you feel no call to the rescue, the regeneration? No desire to assist a struggling soul, “¢ This Lazarus at a cold’s heart’s door, This beggar at Hopes gate ?’” I burlesqued the expression, as I said, but the earnestness was evident enough if she wished to see it. Miss Sargent rose. “Tl leave you to revolt in solitude,” she said, lightly; “it may improve your philosophy even if it depresses your spirits and aspirations.” I made her a profound bow. “ Miss Sargent is sufficient for that,” I said. She laughed involuntarily, half-vexed, half-amused. “You are a thoroughly well man,” she exclaimed, going up the grass green slope to the hotel. It was too true, I was a well man; there was no longer any excuse for my staying away from Washington. I rec- ognized the truth with a distinct shock. One more week, I told myself, then work and the end to dreams. But the dreams ended then and there. Either because I was‘a well man and no longer an object of sympathy, or for some more personal reason, Miss Sargent withdrew herself as much as possible from my society, and there was an odd reserve about her when we were together that was anything but conducive to so- ciable companionship. I took the hint and confined my attentions to Miss Small and Miss Martin. DOROTHY SARGENT 543 The day after our conversation on the beach the Bartons of New York arrived —mother, two daughters, anda son. It was a social opportunity for them to be in the same hotel with Miss Sargent, and they made the most of it that she would allow. I must confess they were also very courteous to me, but I was not in the humor to allow myself to be added to the Bartons’ museum of social cap- tives, catalogued in their letters to their friends. ‘“ The Secretary is difficult,” I overheard Mrs. Barton remark sharply to Miss Sargent. ‘He seems to think your party the only one up to his mark.” “ He has been ill,” she answered, cold- ly, “and is kind enough to let my cous- ins think they have been instrumental in hastening his convalescence.” It is needless to say that young Bar- ton—a mass of callow conceit—became Miss Sargent’s shadow, and I soon saw that she used his attentions as a shield against any advance on my part, which I had no intention of making. I was only too glad that [had but three days more of the Passtoendure. The pastoral was over, prose had begun. Miss Martin, Miss Small, and I were going crabbing. To my surprise Miss Sargent joined us; she seemed to be in the best of spirits, which caused me to feel unaccountably resentful. I was hauling in a line made taut by an oyster-shell sinker, the raw-meat bait, and a grandfather crab, when she hur- ried to my assistance with the long- handled net, and bending over the rail- ing plunged it under the water, and with a skilful upward sweep of the wrist scooped in all three. “There!” she exclaimed, triumphant- ly, “ wasn’t that well done?” “ Beautifully done,” I assented, dryly, shaking the crab out of the net into the basket with the rest of his kind. “I see now you were born to ensnare; your cruelty is innate. What matter to you that these poor things will be thrown alive by the cook into boiling water ? You are as indifferent to their suffering as you are to those of man—I believe you consider woman alone is sentient.” She stared at me in angry astonish- ment, the blood rushing to her cheeks above the tan. ‘“ What an abominable speech !” she exclaimed, in a voice sup-

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544 DOROTHY SARGENT pressed with indignation, and turning her back on me walked away down the wharf. *“T am going to throw these poor wretches back into the water,” I said after her, “they at Jeast shall escape,” and I suited the action to the words. She gave no sign of having heard, but continued on her way, while I carried the empty basket back to the hotel, selfishly, savagely pleased that I had provoked her. If I was debarred the right to win her, I could brutally dis- turb her self-poise, and deny her right to treat me on the same footing with callow youths, placid old ladies, and broken-down girls. The next day I took to my boat, with only a small colored boy for assistant. When I was returning toward evening I saw Miss Small and Miss Martin in a skiff, out in a steamboat channel which has a depth of about twenty feet ; the tide was running out and the current was very strong. Evidently it was too much for Miss Small, who was rowing, and Miss Martin left her seat in the stern to go to her assistance. At her first step she tripped, tried to catch herself, lost her balance, and went over- board like a log. As my boat cut across the channel I threw off my coat and shoes and went over after her. Fortu- nately for me, when I reached her she had lost consciousness, and I could catch her without a struggle. When we came to the surface I hoped to find that the boy had put the boat about and was within reach, but it was run- ning away from us into shore, and he was hanging, open-mouthed, over the stern. I shouted ; coming to his senses he put about, but his steering was so wild that my heart sank. The current was even stronger than I had thought, or I was weaker, and the drag of Miss Martin’s -heavy clothing made our con- dition desperate. “We sank, and when we rose the boat swept us so close I had to dive to keep from being cut down. Failing to luff in time, the boy had to consume more precious seconds coming about ; I knew that in a mo- ment more I should have to give up the struggle. Again the boat bore down upon us and—swept by ; but I made a desperate lunge and caught the rudder as it passed and was drawn forward in its swirl. As I had foreseen, once out of the channel I struck bottom, and letting go of the boat stood in breast- deep water on a sand-bar, getting my wind and shifting Miss Martin’s lifeless body from one arm to the other. A skiff soon picked us up, the others go- ing on to rescue Miss Small, who had completely lost her head, the current carrying her skiff out to sea while she sat helplessly sobbing. A large crowd had gathered on the hotel pier, but the only person I saw as we rowed up was Miss Sargent, pale and anxious. A physician was in read- iness, but there were some long mo- ments of suspense before Miss Martin showed signs of returning life. At the first symptoms I hurried off to my room, shiveringly afraid I was going to make a fool of myself by fainting from weak- ness. I shunned the meeting with Miss Sargent ‘and her party, and the thanks they would feel themselves called on to express, so I kept my room and spent an evening of adventure with “A Gen- tleman of France.” Before I went to bed I received from Miss Martin a note of fervid thanks, evidently written un- der a nervous strain. The next day, using my man as scout, I successfully avoided them, and I planned that the only meeting should be on the next day, when I went to tell them good-by, so that what they had to say would necessarily be brief. Af- ter dark I slipped out and strolled down on the wharf. The water was perfectly calm. A flounderer’s torch created a weird panorama as he passed along under the wharves, the bath- houses springing into sight in the lurid glare like huge monsters of the goblin world to be instantly swallowed up again by the consuming darkness. I sat down on one of the benches midway on the wharf, and watched him into the distance, when, apparently satisfied with his spear’s work, he let his torch fall, hissing into the water, and I saw him no more. Then behind Cat Island, over in the southeast rose the great red face of the man in the moon. So big and near he seemed, I felt I had but to put out my hand to tweak his nose. Rapid- ly he rose higher- and higher, growing

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DOROTHY paler and paler, till presently all around me spread a silver world. A light breeze came from the land, heavy with the scent of honeysuckle and pride of China blossoms. It was all beautiful, delicious, yet ineffably sad. Why are the best things in life always the unat- tainable? The attainable always tinged with disappointment and unrest? The outside fair and tempting, the inside bitterness and blight ? Two figures came out of the shadow of the pier, and before I could escape they saw me and came hurrying to where I sat. They were Miss Sargent and Miss Martin. Miss Martin came forward while Miss Sargent stood apart. Caught by the inevitable I got up and advanced to meet her, my hands thrust deep down into my trousers pocket, for there is never any telling what an emo- tional girl will do, and I would not be made a spectacle before Miss Sargent. Miss Martin instantly began to pour out an agitated jumble of words which Icut short rudely, irritably. “ Don’t go on,” I said, “please don’t, you have nothing to thank me for, I assure you, nothing. I couldn’t have done other- wise,” and leaving her biankly silenced I escaped to the pier. But I was not to be left in peace. I had just dropped down on the bench when Miss Sargent stood before me, very upright, her face glowing, in the silver radiance, with in- dignation, her gray eyes wonderfully dark. “ You are cruel,” she exclaimed, “ you have made her cry! Why couldn’t you let her thank you? Do you want her to go through life burdened with an un- appreciated and unexpressed debt of gratitude? Do you suppose her life is of so little value to her that she may not say so much as ‘ Thank you’ for it? As you value your own r “¢Value my own!’” I exclaimed, all my bitterness and irritation against her breaking out into words. ‘“ You to talk to me of my valuing my life! you SARGENT 545 who have robbed it of its core, its sweet- ness! you who will not lift a finger to ease it of its pain! Why, if it hadn’t been that her life depended on mine I would have let the current carry me away! What is life without love? What is anything worth that is of ben- efit to one only? You, unapproachable to your equals, making your money a mountain-wall to honorable men, you can’t understand this, for, humble as you suppose yourself to be, you are really arrogant of your position, you are suspi- cious of tricks of presumption, you are saturated with the importance of your wealth. Is love never to be ranked higher than money? position? I tell you it is worth them all! If you were the true woman you seemed to be when you called yourself Dorothy Wickford you would understand, you would realize that there are as many aching hearts and thirsting souls in well-fed, well-clad bodies as under a beggar’s rags ; you would judge charitably, piti- fully, you would be a woman in heart and sympathy, you would know and honor love !—as Miss Wickford. But as Miss Sargent? Ice!” At the last word the silence was so great we might have heard a leaf fall on the shore. While I was speaking she had stood looking down, restlessly fingering a piece of splintered rail ; when I finished she raised her head with an impulsive gesture of resent- ment and pride. Suddenly it drooped again and she brushed her hand quickly across her eyes. A wild hope thrilled me. “Crying?” I stammered. “For— for me?” She raised her head and the moonlight flooded her face. Never had I seen it more tender, more bewilder- ingly fair. “No, no,” she murmured, “not for you, but for—myself. You have made an ideal of Dorothy Wickford, and wor- ship it, and I, poor Dorothy Sargent, I am jealous.” Is it necessary to add more ?

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BOOK REVIEWS COLLEGE THE collegians have discovered themselves. With a vengeance. They believe that they are picturesque and fictional. So here they are. Reaching fourth editions and things. Which surely goes to prove that they have convinced somebody of their right to figure bookishly. But who reads these college stories? Cer- tain of the alumni, of course ; at least those not yet too crabbed with business to yearn back to the charming wickednesses that only hor- rify when repeated in the next generation of themselves. Then there are the undergradu- ates who read and buy the books for the glory of saying they have actually known a real live author, and have often seen him walking like a mere human being across the campus. Stories they denounced as ‘‘ rotten” when sneaked into the modest publicity of a college mouthly, now wear that halo of glory, book- covers. Then one must never forget, in col- lege matters, the adulation of the feminine mob, to whose idealizing eyes the baldest use of a football term is mystic and incense-per- fumed conjury, to whom the cheapest college adventure is epic, and the silliest academic prank gigantic comedy. These three classes of readers are large enough in themselves to explain the disap- pearance of a few editions ; but does the un- colleged man, the great typical majority, buy these books. And if so, what is the verdict ? Having soaked in college life from the pro- found self-approval of prep.-school days to the timid diminution of graduation, nay, to the perplexed lowliness of post graduation, I confess myself no fit judge of the attitude borne toward college ideas of romance by the diploma-less public. But knowing the town versus gown spirit, both in traditional combat and contemporary animosity, I feel safe in saying that no one outside the college clientéle would care for these stories. Chiefly because they would not understand. Of course it is no objection to the stories to hint that they will appeal only tothe college classes, since that audience is large enough to have its wants attended to. Yet it is certain that no one but a college man—and his sweet- heart—can understand the elusive, delicious flavor of academic life. It is not exactly caviare to the general. It is a subtile essence that delights the trained palate, and utterly escapes the inexperienced, leaving only a taste of insipidity and emptiness. To the *PRINCETON StToRIEs, by Jesse Lynch Williams. — Cloth, $1. (Chas. Scribner’s Sons, New THe Ways oF YALE, by Henry A. Beers Fourth Edi- tion. Buckram Series. [lustrated. Cloth, 75 cents. (Henry Holt & Co., New York.) HARVARD Srorres, Sketches of the Undergraduate, by Waldron Kintzing Post. Cloth, $i. (G. P. Putnam’s oo. New York.) YALE Yarns. by John Seymour Wood. Illustrated. Cloth, $1. (G. P. Putnam’s Sons, New York. STORIES * idealizing eyes of the collegian, delighting coltishly in his first freedom from home, and revelling in ambrosial friendships unmarred with worldly-wise suspicion and phlegm—io his eyes—and those of his sweetheart whom he writes it all to—noisy roystering is yule- tide wassail ; stealing signs and disturbing tie peace is baronial depredation ; laboring stren- uously with an uncertain pipe and gossiping on the steps or the fence with other sopho- mores at twilight, is baccalaureate reverie ; hazing, cane- -rushes, and all brut: lity are feu- dal tourneying, and violent intercollegiate rivalries are Olympic festivals. The dawn- air of vouthful enthusiasm enlarges, bedews, and thrills all things into lyric poetry, stirring music. And the memory of these things is one of old age’s sweetest treasures, Logic may not verify this spirit. From the outside it may look incredibly silly ; but poetry is almost all attitude; and the college man— or woman—enjoys life and knows its richer side as no other being can. His studies—etc. —may have hindered his fitness for a mad sprinting after wealth—-though I doubt even that; or I blame it, if it is true, to his greater wisdom in choosing to live his life as it passes and not torment and warp it into one fierce strain of clutching at immense riches. He is your true fool, he has the unpractical, un- business-like view of life, who fastens his eyes immovably on the goal of wealth, which, as the classic poets never ceased pointing out, is a pleasure only tothe heirs. They squander quickly and gleefully the gold so slowly and so painfully heaped up. But Apollo tweaks my ear. This is not reviewing books. Is there a field in college life for fiction that shall interest everybody, even the man who may be well enough read but cannot tell a mortar-board from a cane-spree ? Can these stories be so told as to initiate the layman without patronizing him, and without boring the initiated ? These two points are the to-be- or-not-to-be of college fiction as a popular literature. One trouble with the college man as a hero is this; he is not young enough to be a fascinating child-study. He is not old enough to figure in much except puppy-love. He is like a chicken not quite full-fledged ; neither fluffy-chick nor proud rooster ; but just a lank, gawky, self-conscious, unsatisfac- tory transient of a soul. Some genius may some day be the epicist of this adolescence, and portray the all-important environments and problems that are shaping irremediably the mould of his cooling character. Perhaps this epicist is Mr. Jesse Lynch Williams, the only one of these college-writers to attack his subject philosophic: ully, and with keen but sympathetic analysis. Take, for example, such a study as his ‘* Hero Worship,” which paints the adulatory

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BOOK REVIEWS envy of the younger college man for the big toads in the academic puddle. The colormay be a little too heavily laid on, but the under- standing and the sympathy are there, and that is the vital point. Consider, too, Mr. Will- iams’ story, ‘‘ The Madness of Poler Stacy.” Poler, by the way, is not Mr. Stacy’s preeno- men, nor is it a misprint for ‘‘ polar,” but it means a “ grind,” a ‘*-dig,’’ a bookworm, heed- less of the lighter side of college. The story tells of Stacy’s one attempt to be tough and knowing, and the spectacle he made before a college club; and it ends grimly with his overhearing the ridicule excited by what he supposed was an hilariously successful mas- querade. It is told somewhat too prolixly, perhaps, and with some excess of local color, but it is soul-searching and faithful—almost a great piece of work. Stacy, an interesting individuality, reappears in another story, ‘*The Little Tutor.” Mr. Williams is something of a realist, though his enthusiasm and undispelled colle- giate romanticism save him from being either dull or shallow. He has read his Kipling, evidently. You can see it in the titles he chooses ; in little Kiplingingian mannerisms like the ending of a paragraph with a short, blunt, half-impertinent snap; in such tricks of capitalization as ‘*‘ He put both arms about the Clingy Thing,” and in any number of thoughts and expressions. But the three things Kipling stands for—vigor, straightfor- warduess, and democratic sympathy — are not bad creeds for a young writer to adopt. Mr. Williams loves colleges in general, and Princeton in particular ; and his fervor is so beautiful that it is catching. He loves the collegian as brawny militant, as devotee of pretty girldom, as poler, as loafer, as Damon to a chum’s Pythias, as sentimentalist, as practical joker, as anything that he cares to be. The *‘ Hazing of Valliant” is a capital bit of foolery told with the happiest cunning. ‘* When Girls Come to Princeton” is a de- lightful piece of description ; a sort of Charles Lambesque picture of college-life on parade. Mr. Williams’ style is gossipy and collegious, with an occasional bit of sentiment or epigram of charming neatness. If the Princetonian has read -his Kipling, the Harvardensian displays marked familiar- ity with the work of Mr. Harding Davis. Mr. Post’s ‘‘ Jack Rattleton” is a most engag- ing young fellow, but he bears a strange resemblance to Van Bibber, in spite of his general slouchiness and college talk. But Rattleton, with his delectable bull-pup, Mr. Blathers, is only one of a number of most ex- cellently selected types, and all the types are individualized so artfully as to seem living, moving beings, instead of mere embodiments and conglomerations. So, all things consid- ered, I think Mr. Post has improved on, and broadened himself beyond, his literary foun- dation on Mr. Davis. Harvard students, as a class, are men of more sophistication than the students of any other college. Partly this and partly the ma- turity of Mr. Post’s style give the volume of 547 ‘* Harvard Stories” an unusual value. They ought to interest everyone, layman almost as much as collegian. They are stories of a most interesting crowd of young men, with only a background of college. The adven- tures are, in the main, lively to an almost hilarious degree. The conversation is brill- iant and epigrammatic, without losing its naturalness—which is a final test of literary genius. One or two of the stories are written in a vein of high seriousness, the ‘rest are brim- ful of healthy devil-may-care wit. Many of the phrases and scenes are as sharp and well- rounded and clinging as burrs. Hardly a sentence fails of individuality and effect. Two contrasting scenes prove Mr. Post’s versatility convincingly. The one is in ** The Days of Reckoning.” At Harvard, exami- nation-time drives desperate ‘‘loafers” to a spasm of industry. They hire some raga- muflin to read literal translations to them while they fiercely con the all-too-unfamiliar text—or, as Jack Rattleton, Esq., phrases it more vividly, they ‘‘ collar a mucker to drive the horse.” The manner in which ‘‘ Chim- mie” Casey (*‘Chimmie” Fadden’s Boston cousin) declaims the rolling periods of the ‘* Iliad ” is excruciatingly funny. The whole story ‘How Rivers’ Luck Turned,” should become a classic, but two or three pages describing the real fierceness and tragedy of a boat-race, say pages 293 and 294, should be marked with laurel ; they are epic in grandeur of eloquence. In all these stories, both Princetonian and Harvardian, there is much talk of a certain college that seems to be forever crushing lo- cal hopes by winning all the contests. That dread college, I need not say, is Yale. The all-round manhood and wholesomeness of the Yale life and spirit is unapproachable. But the artistic feeling—which is not everything —seems not to prosper there. The college publications are amateurish to a sad degree. A new movement to readjust the curriculum to the curing of this admitted evil is busily at work ; but its influence is not yet predomi- nant. No stronger proof that Yale is out of lit- erary training could be found than this vol- ume of ‘‘ Yale Yarns.’’ With the exception of one story, describing the way four enthu- siastic alumni forgot foot-ball for poker, and spent all the period of the great Springfield contest in devotion to the distinctively Ameri- can game—with this exception, the stories are all feeble and told with horrible inanity and self-approval. To enumerate their character- istics would be to catalogue most of the faults possible to fiction. But there is always an exception to clinch the rule, and Yale’s sins of literary omission are all the more heinous when one considers the delicious work of Professor Henry A. Beers. It is true that he writes of life ‘‘in the consulship of Plancus,” but the quaint- ness of the old ‘‘ ways of Yale,” and the irre- sistibly modern humor of their description make Professor Beers the Oliver Wendell Holmes of college life.

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548 A more completely entertaining work could not be imagined. remember once reading an essay by Professor Beers in a pedagogic magazine. I judged from his use there of the breezy expression “in it,” that when he got in his own field he would be restrained by no affectations of funereal pomp. The work of this staid literate is more audacious in its wit, more outspoken in such faithful points as col- lege dialect, and more exuberant with youth in every way than the work of the younger men, Its contents range from a ravishing BOOKS RECEIVED sea-poem to a mock-ballad of strong drinks, with such refreshing stanzas as this : “So whether it be of fingers three, Or else of fingers two, ‘{ want it strong, and I want it long, And 1 want it p. d. q.”’ The essay on “ Analytical Algebra”’ is as fine in its way as De Quincey’s ‘‘ Murder as a Fine Art.” ‘The whole thing is one little vol- ume-full of nectar—one of those rare books I read to anyone I can buttonhole—one of those rarer books the helpless listener relishes. CHELIFER. BOOKS RECEIVED THe Cuorce or Books, by Charles F. Richardson, includes essays on What, When, and How to Read, the Art of Skipping, Translations, and the like. It is rather coldly didactical, but is enriched with liberal quota- tions. Cloth, 7icents. (Lovell, Coryell Co., New York.) LEGENDS OF Fire IsLAND BEACH AND THE SourH Snore, by Edward Richard Shaw. These stories of Long Island are told with more aptness at description of scenery than at narrative. The illustrations include several beautiful photographs. Cloth, 75 cents. (Lovell, Coryell Co., New York.) THe PuriLosopoy oF CooKkine, by ‘“ Lia Rand.” The work comprises, besides forty- one explanatory letters and three hundred and ten foreign recipes, various suggestions as to household management and many anec- dotes. A most valuable feature is a treatise on preparing and cooking vegetables so as to retain their natural salts. Physicians blame rheumatism and many kindred ills to unscien- tific preparation of edibles and the elimination of these salts, which aid in the solution of food and the stimulation of certain glands. ‘* MonEY TO LOAN ON ALL COLLATERALS, by Minnie Lawson. A novel descriptive of the fleecing-games of modern Shylocks. Pa- per, 25 cents. (Excelsior Publishing Co., Detroit.) AN INFATUATION, by Gyp. Translated by Elise Paul. A pretty and pathetic story, told with much knowledge of femininity, by the Comtesse de Martel, whose ‘‘ Chiffon’s Mar- riage” has been such a success here and abroad. Cloth, 50 cents; paper, 25 cents. With portrait. (R. F. Fenno & Co., New York.) GRANIA: THE Story oF AN IsLAND, by the Hon. Emily Lawless. The ‘‘ Novelist’s Library ” is a boon to the reading public, for it publishes, in a most attractive form, unsugges- tive of the usual paper-covered novel, only such works as have proved their value by win- ning the marked favor of both critics and public. It is a series especially acceptable to that reader—his name is Legion—who is un- able or unwilling to read a new masterwork at the high-noon of its sensational popularity, and is yet eager to enjoy it before it passes into the twilight of classicism. This beautiful story, ‘‘Grania,” is a good example of the series. Novelists’ Library, published month- ly. Paper, 50 cents. (Macmillan & Co., New York.) Mr. Isaacs: A TALE OF MopErRN Inp1A, by F. Marion Crawford. The latest issue of the Novelists’ Library is this, possibly the most famous of all Mr. Crawford’s successes. Paper, 50 cents. (Macmillan & Co., New York.) Gop ForsaKEN. A novel. By Frederic Breton, author of ‘‘ A Heroine in Homespun.” The Hudson Library. Paper, 50 cents. (G. P. Putnam’s Sons, New York.) Poems (second edition) AND LATER PorEms, by Edward Octavus Flagg, D.D. Cloth, with portrait (Thomas Whittaker, New York). The first volume of poems by this distinguished preacher and lecturer contained ‘‘ The Prod- igal Son” and other verse, and this second edition contains numerous additions, notably a very neat quatrain on Tennyson, an Indian story, ‘‘ Otonda,’” and numerous poems of oc- casion. From his fondness for descriptions of nature and his universal sympathy, the rev- erend author might well be acclaimed the Wordsworth of Long Island. There is a warm spot in Dr. Flagg’s heart for dumb an- imals, judging from his poem on the canine suicide, ‘‘ The Silkworm,” “ The Horse,” and this pathetic elegy : “Twas given to me By one o’er the sea, So precious, though wee— My Canary ! ** O’erlooked from his size, Yet, blinking his eyes, He seemed very wise— My Canary ! *« Ah, sad was the night! A mouse with a bite, Removed my delight— My Canary! **T saw him ere dead ; He chirrnped, ra‘sed his head, And then his life fled— My Canary!”

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FASHION, FACT, AND FANCY CONDUCTED BY THE COUNTESS ANNIE DE MONTAIGU capricious than is her wont this | )‘ax FASHION has been less season, and there are fewer radical changes observable. All the world loves change, and this is especially the case with womankind. fashion stimulate trade, and when business is good the manufactu- rers do not, as a rule, find it nec- essary to provide startling novel- ties in order to sell their wares. This was the rea- son given by a prominent mem- ber of a wholesale The evolutions of dry-goods house, for the scarcity of new things. In spite of the fact that there are few noticeable changes, there are many little touches, which proclaim a gown as be- longing to the past or the present sea- son. While sleeves remain as enormous as ever, skirts as wide, and hats as eccentric, there are novelties in cut, trimming, and material. Five, nine, and fifteen-gored skirts are the thing, and the much-coveted flare is accomplished by special methods of cutting. “Never put two biases together,”

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550 FASHION, FACT, AND FANCY ANARD © WOH \y WA SS was an adage of the old-time dress- maker ; this idea, like many other out- of-date ones, has been exploded, and the Parisian modistes have discovered that in order to cause the skirt to flare wide- ly, all of the many gores must be biased ; care, however, should be taken to pre- vent the stretching of the material, which must not be dragged or pulled while sewing the breadths together. Tailor suits, as a rule, are shaped with the nine-gored skirt, each one lapped and stitched ; these suits, when proper- ly made, are the embodiment of style allied with neatness and nattiness. For thin silks, gauzes, and mousselines de soies, the fifteen-gored skirt is admir- able, for it gives amplitude—a necessity in light-weight materials; it also does away with the fulness about the hips, which fashion is, however, about to be revived. The old-time skirt, guiltless of gores, has once more seen the light of day ; it is akin to the round and cumber- some skirts worn by Dutch peasant women, and gives the figure too much rotundity to be entirely graceful; on a tall, slender girl it is admissible, but on none other ; the middle-aged woman, with her dignified embonpoint, should avoid it. Large hips are, however, a sine qua non of the fashionable woman’s figure, and those who do not possess the much-desired rotundity have recourse to padding ; these pads com- mence on the hips and con- tinue to the back of the skirt, forming a small bustle ; they are not longer than half a hand’s - breadth below the waist and are not very thick. The arbiters of la mode al- ways inaugurate the season with some novelty, but wom- en with minds of their own reject or accept the things which do or do not suit their style. The becoming should always be the first considera- tion. Sleeves are almost, if not quite, as gigantic as they were last spring, although an effort has been made to abolish them. They are, however, made quite flat on top, with the low shoulder effect and a distinct inflation as they approach the elbow; this innovation is due to the success of the Marié Antoinette modes, with their long shoulder-seams and flat, ruffled fichus coming well down over the arm. The mandolin sleeve, as its name de- notes, is shaped like the sweet musical instrument. A good model is cut with five gores, and with no fulness whatever at the shoulders ; it is merely held in at the top sufficiently to be easy and grace- ful; it bulges out roundly about half-way down the arm, and tapers narrowly at the wrist ; in tailor-made gowns the seams are usually lapped and stitched, and in those of silk or velvet a piping or cord is placed down each, or passementerie, Jace insertion, or ribbon velvet ; a nar- row slashing is sometimes introduced. A distinct dip in the back charac- terizes some of the new and dressy

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Redfern Calling Costume.

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552 FASHION, FACT, skirt models; the alarmists predict the advent of the train, but we have not yet come to it. Nevertheless, many of the handsomest house gowns are made en demi-traine. \ Short trains, not more than ten inches long, are seen on dressy evening and wedding gowns. Sensible English tailor suits clear the ground all around ; it is bad form to wear such dresses too long. Lines of soutache finishing in a tre- foil are set down each narrow gore. The grandmother’s gown is new and fetching ; the skirt is without any gores, is full and round, and gauged on to the bodice, which is cut with a short point, front and back; to give the proper ef- fect it is worn over a silk-covered hip pad ; this rotun- dity about the hips has the ef- fect of broaden- ing them, and by contrast makes the waist appear more slender ; it is a distinct fore- shadowing of the Marie Antoinette modes ; we may AND FANCY ~. congratulate ourselves if we escape the hoop skirt. Basques, pointed and round waists prevail, and the latter have by no means lost their hold on public favor. Basques are extremely short and full about the hips and back ; the skirts are frequently added. While the separ- ate waist is still seen, its doom is sealed, for abroad, few are used. Most of the dresses have the skirt and waist alike, although a dif- ferent material is al- most sure to make its appearance in the full front, vest, sleeve, or part of a sleeve. When the independent waist is used, it is more for utility than show ; few extremely hand- some ones are no- ticed this season. Capes and coats

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Vu Ong 44 Beerenns, Za d bouclé cloth, cape of beige broadcloth ~ Sleeves and skirt lined throughout with +. 2 AD ia — ao $F a 5 E |g . = =o ~ Db ‘Ss oe a ne Oo @Q 53 wy? 88.2 Zee & a Fg _ ao & 38 Ay .8 ‘5 o ,. & © Fe x © inediine ~N

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554 are short, and the former set out more stiffly than ever from the shoulders—not a pleasant prospect for wintry weath- ga er; they are much ¥ more elaborate than they were last season; for dressy occasions velours du Nord is the favorite material ; it is richly embroidered, jetted, and braided, edged with Thibet, ostrich or coq feathers, ravelled ruchings, or bands of fur. Even embroidery in colors is used upon black or dark-colored velvets ; an example is of royal purple velvet, with a design wrought in lighter-colored silks, the effect heightened with gold and amethyst beads. Very pretty is a cape of black velvet with a narrow trimming consisting of strands of iridescent green beads extend- ing from neck to edge in radiating lines. Crépon has eyen invaded the domain of capes, which are to be worn indepen- dently and not to match suits. Chiffon ruffles edge capes of velvet or FASHION, FACT, AND FANCY satin, and wide ruches are placed about the neck. Flaring Valois collars, richly beaded and embroidered, and of velvet or fur, are the distinguishing feature of many of the capes and coats. Straight and high officers’ collars and turnover ones, are sometimes substituted on the plain wraps intended for shopping and trav- elling. The very latest thing for rough usage is the rather short cape, patterned after the golf models, and made of the heavy steamer-rugs of Scotch wool ; they come in large and rather showy plaids, although there are brown and gray mixtures with a mere thread of col- or running through the weft, which are preferable to the usual brilliant tints. Black, tan, bronze, blue, and vert Russe are the prevalent colors in wraps. Capes are braided in an all over pat- tern, the soutache being generally black. Jackets are jaunty little affairs, and are youthful and short ; there seems scarce- ly anything suitable for the elderly woman ; perhaps her comfort will be consulted later on ; at any rate she can take refuge in the cape. The wrists of coat-sleeves are finished with buttons and braiding, or colonial cuffs of fur or velvet. ‘Nautical jackets of blue cloth, or mili- tary coats of officers, red or Russian green, are quite the thing for young ladies’ fall wear. They look pretty and are suitable for the yachting and hunt- ing parties which generally wind up the season at country and seaside resorts. These jackets are either half or tight- fitting ; three rows of brass buttons ornament the fronts, and the high stand- ing collar and sleeves are relieved by several lines of narrow military gold braid ; later on an edge of mink or Per- sian lamb will be added. The collarette and fichu are rivals for favor, each having its advocates. Collarettes of lace, ribbon, and velvet are flat over the shoulders rather than full, imparting the low, drooping effect considered so stylish. They are also of silk or velvet, overlaid with black or

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FASHION, FACT, AND FANCY 555 white net, in a fish-scale design, in jet or iridescent spangles, the edges finished with a rain-fringe or with a pinked-out rose-ruching of black or colored silk. Entire jet collarettes are greatly used ; an elegant example shows a narrow yoke of velvet with scalloped edges and em- broidered in cut jet; below this is a square of black net richly embroidered in jetted spangles, appliqued with lace and finished with a drop fringe of cream and jet beads. Fichus are quite the correct thing. There is the demure Corday kerchief of mull or dotted swiss, crossed primly over the chest, or the graceful Marie Antoinette fichu of chiffon, elaborately wrought mousseline de soie or of point d’ésprit ; the latter are quite inexpensive and are very simple and pretty. There are chokers and band-bows for the neck ; stylish are those consisting of folded silk or ribbon, strapped at inter- wxals with lace-edged organdie; a bow with stiff pointed edges is placed at the back. Pretty little sets consist of batiste,

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556 swiss, or organdie, the small-pointed collars and cuffs lined with pale-col- ored silk. The materials this fall are dreams of artistic loveliness, and in seductive col- orings and perfection of weave they are unrivalled. No woman need seek very far for a color to suit her complexion, for the tintings are as varied as nature’s own palette, and art has invented dyes of soft and faded hues which charmingly reproduce the Trianon brocades and tapestries of gay Versailles. The silks are lustrous taffeta, or gros grain, and of such. shifting and lovely designs as to defy description; blue, pink, green, gold, and red are so exquisitely blend- ed that no one hue is at variance with another. The shaded, changeful hues of a wood-pigeon’s breast, the scintillant splendor of a merle’s wing, and the tints of the rainbow, all are repre- sented. FASHION, FACT, AND FANCY Taffetas in blotched effects, one tone melting into another, are desirable for waists and dresses of ceremony ; looped straggling vines, gveat rose clusters connected by interlaced stems, and stripes in chiné and changeable effects, are more frequently seen than the de- tached flowers and gorgeous bouquets of the Pompadour period. Velours jardiniére, a material with a satin ground and raised velvet flowers, is new and elegant, and is used for the pet- ticoat fronts, sleeves, and waistcoats, of the new gowns. Peau de soie, taf- feta, faille, and satin are the principal weaves in silk; sheeny brilliant sur- . faces, shot with vary- ing colors, but melt- ing one into anoth- er; are prevalent. Liberty satin and figured mousseline de soie is greatly liked for evening toilettes.s Among new and effective

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FASHION, FACT, AND FANCY textiles is the Vantine crépe silk, with a crinkly cream ground thickly strewn with bizarre figures in varied Persian colorings. For making waists, pouch fronts, and sleeves, with which to brighten up a sombre gown, this silk will be found useful, combining as it does artistic colorings and solidity of weave. The novelty wools are quite as ele- 557 gant as the silken textiles, and are both smooth and rough, plain or multi-col- ored, the same tones being prevalent. DESCRIPTION OF }'ASHIONS 1. Cape or Emeratp Vetver.— The front and shoulders laid in kilt-pleats ; the edges are finished by a pleating of black lisse. 2. Youne Laptes’ JackeTt.—Scotch blue cloth is the material, with tailor stitch- ing. . 3. Cattixne Costume. — Skirt and sleeves of reseda green faced cloth; underwaist of shirred cream chiffon held by gold-embroidered bands of claret velvet ; the same trimming orna- ments the skirt and sleeves. This cos- tume is specially designed by Redfern. 4, Sxarine Coat.—This jaunty coat is of mignonette green cloth trimmed with bands of gray krimmer, the vest and sleeves are of dahlia velvet. 5. Fancy Stervr.--Suitable for silk or any thin goods. 7. Partstan Coat. — Hunter's cloth with black satin collarette. 8. Cattine Costumse.—Skirt of Louis XVI. taffeta in heliotrope and pink ; puffed bodice of heliotrope Liberty satin. 9. Reception Waist.—Chiné silk in amber and Persian colors ; the trimming consists of ruffles of cream chiffon with front and belt of dull green satin. 10. Girt’s Costume.—Skirt of tan cheviot ; bodice with sleeves and plas- tron of novelty stripe in green and tan. green ANNOUNCEMENT Tue pattern of any garment illus- trated in Godey’s, commencing with the October number, will be-mailed to our patrons. Skirts, waists, and sleeves may be obtained at twenty-five cents for each separate pattern. Only the regulation measures are used, namely, a forty-inch skirt and a thirty-six-inch bust. These are easily adapted to any figure by cutting slightly larger or smaller as is necessary. The latest nov- elties will be found in our illustrations. Norice. In the October number 36- inch waist should read “bust.”

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558 MRS. POTTER'S COSTUMES IN THE **“COLLIER DE LA REINE” In Paris, the stage sets the fashion in the matter of costuming, and when an ambitious dressmaker is eager to launch anew mode, he endeavors to persuade a popular actress to wear it in public. The revival of historic plays, with their splendid pageants, has had its effect in the revival of old-time fashions. The actress of fifty years ago was con- tent to be wooed in the traditional white muslin, with a single rose in her hair ; she was led to the altar in a paper-like white satin, and was wont to gasp forth her dying words in a funeréal robe of rusty cotton-backed velvet. The actress of to-day scorns such make-shifts, and must have real satin, velvet, jewels, and lace. Before under- taking a role, she haunts the picture galleries of Versailles, the Louvre, and Hampton Court, studying old portraits, in order to get points about costume ; she is as particular about the texture, pattern, and color of a stuff as is the historic painter ; the hang of a skirt, the set of a bodice, or the wearing of a hat are none of them left to chance, but are made matters of painstaking study. In Paris, the place to study fashions, whether ancient or modern, is the stage of the Francais or the Gymnase, or even that of the minor theatres. American women have become con- vinced of this fact, and in common with the Parisian mundanes, flock to the theatre, on the first night of a long- heralded play; the dressmakers are among the foremost patrons, and claim that they secure many valuable points. Last season, the superb mounting of “Madame Sans Géne” called for many tributes of admiration, and although the fad for the Empire modes was well nigh defunct, the splendid costumes were reproduced as house dresses, while the court mantles became opera-cloaks. The wave of the Napoleonic craze has swept over the world, and fashion turns to something less threadbare. We are on the verge of another craze, which is the Louis XVI. period, when patches, panniers, and powdered hair prevailed. As early as last winter, there were ru- mors of the awakening interest in every- FASHION, FACT, AND FANCY thing that pertained to the reign of the unlucky and pleasure-loving queen of France. That the fashions of the early fall are distinctively of that period, is a settled fact, as both costuming and in- terior decoration lean in the direction of the styles which preceded the bloody French Revolution. Mrs. Potter makes her entrée as Marie Antoinette, in a superb gown of reddish heliotrope velvet, known in Paris as nadjal, and opening over a petticoat of maize-colored satin. The piquante head, with its ash blond hair, is framed in an enormous caléche-hood of velvet lined with royal ermine, a most becoming setting to the pretty face with its aristocratic features; this wide and enormous hood is distended with reeds or wires, which cause it to set out on each side ; it is posed flatly on the crown of the head, and worn back of a glitter- ing coronet of brilliants. Another striking costume consists of a tunic of cigar-brown moiré, gathered full about the hips, lined with grass- green faille and flaring away from a front of faded rose taffeta, brocaded in deeper hues of pink and terra-cotta, and interthreaded with glistening gold stripes ; the waist has a shirred front of cream mousseline de soie with lappels and cuffs of moss green faille, finished with an appliqué of old point lace ; the hat, with its widely flaring brim is a brown beaver with a gathered crown of moss-green velvet, with three nodding ostrich plumes of brown shading into cream color, placed on one side. Perhaps the most effective and elegant of all of the costumes, is that donned dur- ing the queen’s interview with the crafty and perfidious-Cardinal de Rohan. It consists of a full petticoat of ivory white peau de soie, which is worn over a regal robe of velvet, of that peculiarly bright yet dark blue, known as bleu de roi, and which is bordered with bands of priceless Russian sable. The demi- decolleté bodice is draped with a small fichu of Mechlin lace, and held on the bust with gleaming diamond ornaments. A beret or blue velvet cap with a full puffed crown, the band draped with folds of creamy gauze and studded with rosettes of brilliants, is set coquettish- ly above the flowing locks, a short veil

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FASHION, FACT, AND FANCY of transparent gauzy stuff floating gracefully behind, making an ensemble remarkable for its becomingness as well as for its historic accuracy. Mrs. Potter's lovely costumes, which she wears with such infinite grace, will no doubt afford many valuable hints to those women who are in search of nov- elty. The dressmakers are copying these gowns for some of their swell customers, with, of course, certain modifications, notably that of the flat sleeve, to the in- troduction of which most women mani- fest strenuous objections, and which is, in reality, neither becoming nor pictur- esque. FASHIONS IN WRITING-PAPER AtruoucH there are few vagaries of fashion to be noted in the paper used for friendly and ceremonious corre- spondence, there are certain definite rules which govern its use, and which the woman who desires to be considered good form cannot overstep. Every season there are novelties in stationery put on the market, but the wise woman never allows herself to be tempted by the lovely tinted papeterie,’ which, although a delight to the eye, does not appeal to her innate sense of what is correct. The dreamy blues, ro- mantic rose colors, and dainty greens, should be relegated to the very young, as these delicate shades appeal to the budding tastes of girls and boys, and harmonize with the gushing sentiments of the very youthful. The fancy- stamped paper with the victor’s wreath, the regal fleur-de-lis, and the four- leaved clover in gold or bronzé, belong properly to the epoch when the heart is worn upon the sleeve, and the school- boy or girl runs riot with sentiment, harmlessly expressed upon ornate sta- tionery. When big square envelopes are in- troduced as a passing vagary, these enthusiastic young people enclose their letters in envelopes big enough for the official correspondence of a cabinet min- ister; when small ones are used, they run to Liliputian styles. Men and women of the world never commit themselves to a passing caprice, 559 and cling to the heavy cream -laid oc- tavo sheet, which is at the same time elegant and unostentatious, and which boasts of no ornamentation, save, per- haps, the family crest or coat of arms elegantly emblazoned in the _ prop- er heraldic colors, blended with gold, silver, or bronze. Some persons deem this assumption of armorial bearings arrogant, and not in consonance with republican principles; there is, how- ever, no reason why those who are en- titled to this distinction should not display their escutcheon upon their sta- tionery. The monogram is frequent- ly substituted, and the cunning of the engraver is evidenced in the artistic entwining of the graceful cipher. Ac- cording to the canons of good taste, the monogram should not be of too elabor- ate a character ; in fact, to be correct, it must not assert itself conspicuously, while at the same time expressing in- dividuality and elegance. Fashion’s decrees do not permit of the use of the crest or monogram upon the envelope ; it is sufficient to have it en- graved at the head of the letter-sheet. The use of ruled paper is relegated to school children and the untutored classes ; properly educated persons do not require lines to guide them ; in fact, with the present fashion of straggling handwriting, lines would hamper rather than aid the accomplished letter-writer. For mourning, the excessively deep black border is no longer de regle, a narrower one being sufficient to con- form with the dictates of mourning eti- quette. It is not necessary to intrude the insignia of one’s grief upon the world, but black-bordered paper is the natural accompaniment of the garb of woe. A black monogram or crest may be used upon heavy white paper. For country houses, the hostess pro- vides herself with a quantity of station- ery for the season, designed, not for herself alone, but for the use of her guests, a generous supply of which is placed in the escritoire of the guest chamber. As nowadays all country houses are distinguished by names, it is the proper thing for the recipients of the lady’s hospitality to conduct their correspondence on the paper which bears, in the fac-simile handwriting of

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PN AOE RIREO Ott ON 560 the hostess, the historic or fancy name of her residence. The country clubs, the athletic and social clubs, all have an appropriate de- vice engraved upon the stationery which is to be used by membérs. In these days of yachting, yacht sta- tionery is supplied to the guests of the owner. Sometimes it is ornamented with nautical emblems, or it bears the name of the craft and the monogram of the yacht club ; in many cases the pennant of the club is used, the different colars affording a fine opportunity for the handicraft of the skilled engraver. In these times of rush and utilitarian- ism the proper sealing of a letter may almost be classed among the lost arts ; even women of leisure deem it a waste of time to use sealing-wax, although those who cling to elegant usages never omit this ceremony, save when writing upon matters of business. There is nothing more suggestive of daintiness, than the envelope with its circle of pale-colored wax, stamped with the impress of the family coat- of-arms or a graceful monogram. Seal- ing a letter savors of leisure and ele- gance, and few women are past - mis- tresses of the art ; men rarely take the trouble to seal their letters. Courtesy of Messrs.. Dempsey & Car- roll. RULES FOR ROLLING AN UMBREL- LA To know how to roll an umbrella is fast becoming an accomplishment of the fashionable woman as well as the dude, for to be correct, one’s umbrella must suggest the slenderness and symmetry of a walking-cane. The ribs should be laid flatly against the stick and the points held firmly in place, curving the thumb and forefinger of the right hand about them, while the left hand does the rolling, revolving the umbrella in so doing; the right thumb should be loose enough to per- mit the revolutions, while still holding down the points. Rose tendre is a delicate faded look- ing pink. FASHION, FACT, AND FANCY RATIONAL DRESS Tue tendency toward sensible and substantial dressing is happily on the increase, due probably to the craze for all kinds of athletic sports. In any physical exercise where the limbs are called into play, such as cycling, rowing, or golf, tight dressing is an impossibility. When out-of-door exercise prevails to such an extent as it does now, it cannot fail to have its effect on woman’s ap- parel. Even ten years ago, women were more trammelled as to costuming than they are now; when they went away for the summer they had no useful blazer suit to fall back on, and were con- demned to wear whaleboned basques and close-fitting petticoats, no matter how torrid the weather. The time for revolt had come, and some benefactor of womankind had an inspiration, which was the open-fronted coat, familiarly known as the blazer. Somebody else inaugurated the reign of the shirt-waist and tan shoes, and the infamous bustle was relegated to ob- livion. Manufacturers invented corsets which were not instruments of torture, and shoes became looser and more comfortable; yet we are not satisfied, for the emancipated woman is demand- ing a rainy-day costume. She is weary of ‘dragging her skirts through the slush and the grime, stirring up microbes and causing her to be in mortal fear of diph- theria and pneumonia. The out-of- date type of women cry out against the immodesty of the dress reaching to the ankles. What about the bathing suit? Why a skirt which reaches to the an- kles and is sufficiently short to escape the mud should be called immodest, it would be difficult to say. When the con- tinuity of idea is carried out in the leg- gings, which should be of the same material, the effect is excellent, and by no means unfeminine. The abbreviated petticoat is in reality not soimmodest as the long skirt; the for- mer reaches the ankles and stays there, the other does not. When a woman lifts her bedraggled skirt with a determined clutch of her fingers, she frequently ele- vates it much higher than she imagines she does. Not being provided with eyes

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FASHION, FACT, AND FANCY in the back of her head, she has no idea what a holy show she is making of her- self, and is apt to display more of her person than the purists would deem proper and lady-like. The woman who objects strenuously to the ankle-length costume, will frequently make disclos- ures she wots not of and go serenely on her way, believing that she is nothing if not conservative and modest. It is the old proverb about strain- ing at a gnat and swallowing a camel, and in time the short skirt for rainy weather will come to be regarded as a matter of course. THE MULTIFORM USES OF THE HAIR-PIN Naturaty, the legitimate use of the steel or tortoise-shell pin is to keep the hair in place. Women, however, utilize it for many other purposes ; they may, indeed, have a supply of glove and shoe buttoners, which somehow or other never materialize when most needed. The hair-pin can always be found, and a woman buttons her shoes and gloves with it, uses it to pin on her veil, and when the pretty manicure instru- ments cannot be found, cleans her nails with the sharp point. She opens her letters with it, cuts the pages of the new magazine, and makes a bodkin of it when necessary. It can be made to replace the tidy-pin, to tuck back the lace window-curtain, and clean out the gas-burner. Blackened in the gas-flame it becomes a famous eyebrow pencil, and with it the paper around the new box of powder can be detached. When the hat-pin is lost, a long hair-pin easily replaces it ; and by lengthening out the prongs into a wire, the waste-pipe in a station- ary wash-bowl may be cleared. In fact, the little bit of wire in skilful fingers, becomes one of the most useful articles of the toilette and household. Amaryllis is a charming evanescent shade, a heliotrope with somewhat of a reddish tinge, but not so vivid as ma- genta. Fog-gray and smoke are sober and becoming tones of gray. 561 GAS COOKING-STOVES Tue gas-stove is a precious boon to the woman who lives in a flat or apart- ment ; with it she can accomplish won- ders, and that, without soiling her fin- gers or getting red in the face. Many ranges are so constructed that a movable gas-stove may be placed at the back and used at will. Besides its recognized convenience, the gas-stove is economical, as it can be turned out the moment the cooking is done ; a regular heat may always be maintained, so that food is less likely to burn or become overdone by this meth- od. Proper care must be taken in light- ing ; if the flame is jagged and. burns yellow it is not right, and will smoke the utensils; it should be put out and lighted until it burns with a steady steely blue light, which will not blacken the pots. The ordinary rubber-tubing attached to any gas-burner will be all- sufficient for a small stove. The cook need exercise no patience, for there will be no waiting for the fire to burn up, as itis ready at a moment's notice ; each burner should not consume more than two cents’ worth of gas an hour ; in from three and a half to five minutes steaks or chops are quite done. In cooking by gas, the juices of the meat are not wasted, as only about six per cent. is lost; by the old processes about forty per cent. is wasted. When the gas-stove is not attached to the range, what is known as a hot plate may be substituted; this can be set upon any table near the gas-burner ; these small conveniences have two, four, or six holes, and with a tin oven, cake or biscuit may be baked. They are purchasable all the way from sixty cents up to several dollars. A steam-cooker is an excellent thing for a small household, as it is labor- saving and economical, and the amateur cook can prepare a meal without the burning or scorching incident to a coal stove. These cookers are of tin, and are so tightly closed that none of the odors can escape, a great thing in a confined apartment. The food is put in and left to steam a certain time ; when opened, everything will be found done to a turn.

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WINTER EVENING AMUSEMENTS In small towns and remote country houses, where frequent visits to the theatre and lecture-hall are not prac- ticable, there are many forms of amuse- ment which may be inaugurated by the entertaining hostess, eager to promote sociability. Nothing pleases young people so much as informal parties, where they are not obliged to wear their best gowns ; these are always interesting, and several forms of culinary amusement are cited below. A MAPLE-SUGAR OR CARAMEL “PARTY. PurcuasE several pounds of the sweet brown squares of maple sugar; the dark unadulterated kind is the best. In a wide and not too deep pan place the sugar, with sufficient water to cover the bottom of the pan ; allow a small lump of butter to each cup of sugar ; permit it to melt, but be careful that it does not burn. Try it occasionally by dropping into cold water; if stiff enough not to run from the spoon, it is cooked sufficiently. Have some new pie-tins, one for each person ; fill with pulverized ice, and place them about a well-scoured kitchen- table. The mistress of the feast drops a generous allowance of the candied sugar into the centre of each pan, and the guests are invited to partake of the dainty. Making caramels is another favorite diversion, and everybody should be al- lowed to participate in their prepara- tion. Chocolate caramels are general favorites. Into a big saucepan of en- amelled iron put four cups of brown sugar, two of New Orleans molasses, two of grated chocolate, and two of rich fresh milk, with two tablespoonfuls of corn-starch, and a tablespoonful of but- ter ; allow these ingredients to boil slow- ly ; when at the proper moment, and just before the sugar granulates, remove and pour on buttered tins. -While cooling, mark off into squares and place on ice to cool; when ready, the amateur cooks are invited to feast off the candied sweets, and whether up to the standard or not they are generally praised. 562 FASHION, FACT, AND FANCY A MARSH-MALLOW PARTY. Sucu a party requires but little prep- aration, and is inexpensive and agreeable. In the country, where open fireplaces are attainable, the best effects ere in- sured. As, however, an open fire is not always possible, a grate filled with red hot glowing coals is the next best thing. The gas should be turned low, or the apartment lighted by one or two candles ; a superabundance of illumi- nation is not desirable. The guests gather around the fire- place and seat themselves upon the hearth-rug or on low hassocks. All ceremony is to be avoided. The hostess has already provided sufficient marsh-mallows for the refec- tion of her friends; these are placed on a low table convenient to the fire- place. A number of small sticks of ordinary wood, with pointed ends, are laid beside it; each person is invited to spear a marsh-mallow on the end, and this is held in front of the coals until toasted of a tempting golden brown ; it is eaten from the stick. The marsh-mallows may, however, be laid in a deep tin pan, set before the fire and eaten at leisure ; frequently cider or punch and home- made cakes are served with them. After every one has been satisfied, the time. has arrived for ghost stories, the more horrible the better. When these weird tales are told by the light of leaping flames and flickering candles, the effect is greatly enhanced. The person who develops the great- est talent in recounting tales of mystery and horror is always in demand. The marsh-mallow ard ghost party never breaks up very early, and at the witch- ing hour of twelve, a chafing-dish supper of Welsh rare-bit and beer may be served ; this is sufficiently indigesti- ble to invite the company of ghostly visitants. Miss Mary Sargent Hopkins of Bos- ton, the editor of that bright little pub- lication The Wheelwoman, is herself an expert cycler, and understands all of the fine points of excellence about a wheel.

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FASHION, FACT, AND FANCY CURRENT COMMENT Every convenience is now supplied on the well-equipped steamers and rail- roads. A woman may have her bair dressed for dinner on any of the fine ocean liners, and why not? A barber is a necessity to a man, and why not a coiffeur to a woman. On the parlor-cars and sleepers of a certain well-known railroad, there is a lady’s-maid in attendance. This is cer- tainly an improvement on the porter, who is better calculated to black boots than to assist a lady who may be an in- valid, in many of the small ways in which she needs attention. The Bloomerites have overrun Chi- cago, and it has become quite the thing for young women employed as type- writers and telephone operators to ride to business on their wheels. An order has been issued by the telephone man- ' agers, however, forbidding the girls to report for duty in the objectionable re- form dress, or even to don it prior to leaving the office. The young women are indignant at what they regard as an infringement of individual rights, and are holding indignation meetings. Bloomers are being pounced upon not only by the conventional woman, but by the police. In Paris, any female who enters a shop attired in these fin-de-sie- cle garments is liable to surveillance. The roominess of the bifurcated skirt has proved of great service to shoplift- ers, who have adopted the bloomer to further their own ends. Voluminous pockets can be concealed beneath its fulness, into which stolen goods are readily concealed. In ladies’ dogs the latest thing is the Barzois, a sort of high-bred animal be- tween a greyhound and a deerhound ; a narrow, pointed head, shaggy hair, and intelligent eyes characterize the canines of this breed. They are gentle and af- fectionate. It is now more fashionable for women to pet large dogs, the smaller animals, once so desirable, being rele- gated to silly school-girls and senti- mental old maids. Nadjol is a rich dark plum color. 563 WOMEN UP TO DATE Amone the noted Southern beauties is Mrs. Swift, of Columbus, Ga. She is a leader of society and a woman of rare tact and culture. This lady is a splendid type of the high-bred South- ern woman, and has the small head set upon perfectly moulded shoulders, which the old Greeks loved to depict in painting and sculpture. Mrs. Swift is fond of picture gowns, and appeared lately in a costume of pale golden brown satin, opening over a petticoat of old gold and bronze brocade, the colors toning admirably with the soft brown hair and creamy complexion. Mrs. Joseph Thompson is winning laurels by her excellent management of the Woman’s Department of the Cotton States and International Exhibition. Ruth McEnery Stuart, the inimitable writer and reader of negro dialect, is a Louisianian, and early in life gained recognition through the columns of Harper’s Magazine, for her dialect-stories. Lady Burdett Coutts, who is over eighty years of age, wore, at a recent garden-party, a gown of the palest rose chiné brocade, with a sash of baby blue chiffon, and a bonnet to match. Truly a giddy and youthful! toilet. Although the international Yacht Race was a fiasco, Englishmen of high degree come over in hopes of winning a matrimonial prize. The youthful Duke of Marlborough, following the precedent of his father, has secured the hand of one of America’s greatest heir- esses—Miss Consuelo Vanderbilt. Like the heroine in a primitive novel, this young lady is said to be as good as she is beautiful, and will prove a desirable parti for the titled foreigner who has won her. Mrs. Oliver Iselin is the true type of a yachtswoman, and the victory of the Defender has afforded her greater pleas- ure than any possible society triumph. The charming American is no fair- weather sailor, and is in nowise afraid of a bit of a stiff breeze. With the win- ter season Mrs. Iselin will be forced to desert her home on the beloved yacht, and exchange her flannel suits for the silks and satins of the drawing-room.

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THE DRESSING-TABLE Few women realize that the skin must be fed as well as the body ; for if not, it will become dry and wrinkled and look like old cracked leather. To omit washing the face at night is a great mistake; on retiring, this is really of more importance than it is in the morning. It should be bathed in warm water and dried gently but thor- oughly. ‘Then take some good emolli- ent, such as English cold-cream or fra- grant Créme Beatrice, and rub in faith- fully with the fingers until all of it is quite absorbed ; the hands, neck, and arms should be treated in the same manner. If these directions are care- fully followed, the skin will retain its youthful softness, and the face its plumpness of contour long after middle age is passed. THE EYEBROWS Suoutp be cared for as particularly as the hair, for nothing gives such distinc- tion as an elegantly arched brow, not too heavy and not too thin; the lashes are the frame of the eye, the setting of a jewel. If the hairs are stiff and irregular, the line of beauty is attain- able with the use of pincers. This is a heroic remedy, as each rebellious, straggling hair must be pulled out by the roots, an operation requiring care and patience. Afterward, put cold cream upon the brow to allay the irrita- tion, and also to smooth down inequal- ities ; then pinch the hairs into shape with the tips of the fingers, rubbing from the nose toward the temples. Al- ways keep a small brush and use it daily on the eyebrows. Should they be thin and ofa pale uncertain color, there can be no harm in using one of the pen- cils which comes for the purpose, only be careful not to make too heavy a line ; the lashes may be darkened with a little liquid India ink. The accentuation of the eyebrows makes a wonderful change in some persons faces, and as a rule en- hances its beauty. Never pencil the brows before using powder, or all your work will have to be done over again. 564 FASHION, FACT, AND FANCY DAINTY DISHES CREAMED NUTS Por in an enamelled saucepan, a pound of cut sugar, with a cup of cold water. Stir until it reaches the boiling-point ; cook until hairs form when dipping a fork into it, then test it in cold water. If it can be rolled in a soft ball it is done ; take off the fire and pour into a bowl. Do not stir, and set carefully in a cool place until it is at such a temperature that the finger can be dipped into it without burning ; beat well with a spoon until it looks like cream, and knead thor- oughly. If boiled too much or too little, or left until cold, it will not be right ; if not cooked to the proper point, boil again, adding a little water. The nuts should have been already shelled. Take a piece of the sugar-paste and work until it becomes flat, then press the bits of nut into it. This will be found a delicious confection. The Autoharp We are now prepared to send you the new edition of our illustrated story ‘‘ How the Auto- harp Captured the Family.’”” One of the most famous artists of our day illustrated it. It tells all about how Autoharps look and sound. One of our styles, the 2%, is pictured below. It has two keys, C and F, allowing beautiful modula- tions, 5 bars and 23 strings. It measures 18% inches long by 10 inches wide, and is packed in a nice box, including instruction book contain- ing 22 pieces of music, a music rack, shell pick, spiral pick, and tuning key. Style 2 3-4, Price $5.00, Express paid. Can be returned and Money refunded ¢f not satisfactory. Send for story. ALFRED DOLGE & SON, Dept. N, 110 East 13th Street, NEW YORK CITY. O08 9FF5 0809579996 228080683998

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S

BRAND and Drug Stores, Cycle Dealers, etc. Wholesale inquiries should be addressed

**SELVYT,” 381 and 383 Broadway, New } 7 Mention Gopry’s Magazine in your letter when you £ 66 9? POLISHING 4 SELVYT prensa >» Now being sold by all leading stores throughout the coun- 2 > try, at 10 cents upwards, according to size. They entirely > do away with the necessity for buying expensive wash or chamois leathers, which they out-polish and out-wear, + never become greasy, and are as good as new when washed. 2” » ©. For Sale by ail Dry Goods Stores, Uphoisterers, Hardware 24 , ‘

Wi, et

cr; d pe & . lec Dress Linings Warranted not to Crock

and to withstand washing, perspi- ration, acids, etc., without change of color or loss of strength. Can be had in silicias, percalines, and satines, At all Dry Goods Stores. Wiis STEREOPTICONS, MAGIC LANTERNS &

ELECTRIC FOCUSING LAMPS ek agra Stage hing ts oc *t- mari Hi = Hof =| Mm 3 a, fist, aa | ‘Ook fax BARS.

. . (BUYING your ’96 mount don’t fail to see the New Model Remington Standard Bicycles. Let us have your name for a ’96 Catalogue handsomely illustrated. oo =a NEW WHEELS vill excel all others and will lead in improvements and proficiency of workmanship. REMINGTON ARMS CO., 313-315 Broadway, New York City.

Correspondents with advertisers will confer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S.

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se they sends them to the heathen, I believe; though what u a ‘** They may serve to enable them to imagine a vain thing. ‘* What do you do with your old gowns?” ‘** Mamm HE: SHE: put them to I can’t conjecture. HE:

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—nothing but water. That's all you need with Pearline. Don't use any soap with it. If what we claim is true, that Pearline is better than soap, the soap doesn’t have a chance to do any work. It’s only in the way. Besides, some soaps might cause trouble—and you'd lay it to Pearline. You'll never get Pearl- ine’s very best work till you use it just as directed on the package. Then you'll have the easiest, quickest, most economical way of washing and cleaning. “i itions "2 Pearline 4 OTWITHSTANDING the great number of imitations 4 and substitutes advertised to be twice as wide and twice as cheap, has a hold upon the fashion- able dressmakers and fashionable women that can- not be shaken. It was only a matter of time for the old adage, “ The best is the cheapest,’ to be proven, and now the demand for the genuine Hair Cloth Crinoline, of which every strand of the weft is pure hair, promises to exceed the output. Experience has also taught the best manner of using it, and the fault of shrinking or cockling,which by the unthinking ones has sometimes been attributed to hair cloth, without for a moment looking for the real cause, that of putting two fabrics of different nature together, either of which may shrink a little, has been over- come by scientific methods of interlining. Shrinking, ironing, and binding hair cloth before putting into a dress has also produced satisfactory results, more than compensating for the little extra trouble in so doing. To make certain of the genuine hair cloth take out a few strands of the weft, pull them, and if found to be elastic it is hair cloth, otherwise imitation. It is quite easily understood why hair cloth is so elastic and resilient if one will only stop to think that, no matter how many ways human hair is combed, whether twisted, curled, braided, crimped or frizzled, wet or oiled, it will resume its natural position, and, so, too, will Hair Cloth Crinoline, having a weft of pure hair, resume its normal condition. Such HAIR CLOTH CRINOLINE, as above referred to, is made by the American Hair Cloth Company, of Pawtucket, R. .,the largest hair cloth manufacturers in the world, whose goods are recognized as the leaders throughout the country, and are superior to any foreign or domestic make. They manufacture several grades, suitable for skirts and sleeves for both day and evening dresses: 10/4, 14/4, 10/5, 200/4, 98/3, usually sold for Skirts; 84/3, 146/3, 7 170/3, 200/4 for Sleeves. CHARLES E. PERVEAR, Agent Correspondents with advertisers will confer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S.

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| ESE MSGE11-A-C-O- Catarrh, Asthma, Bronchitis, Throat or Lung Troubles ARE CURED WHILE YOU SLEEP BY THE PILLOW-INHALER And its Rational System of All-night Inhalation. for vestiges of disease. It is safe as sunshine. ing, or snuffing. From concealed reservoirs, the Pillow-Inhaler applies Medicated Air (charged with pine-tar, iodine, and other healing ingredients) to the mucous lining of the Nose, Throat, and Lungs all night whilst sleeping as usual. application of curative air to the diseased membranes of the respiratory organs, it conquers disease, and, whilst spreading stimulating and soothing agents upon inflamed tissues and aérating the blood, searches through every drop in the body It is comfortable. By a continuous There is no stomach-dosing, douch- In treating these diseases, the best physicians often advise their patients to go to the pine woods, which is sometimes inconvenient or impossible. The Pillow-Inhaler gives the same effect. It makes a new climate in the bed-room, for 6 to 8 hours every night whilst at home and sleeping as usual. For a full explanation send for descriptive pamphlet and testimonials, or call and see it. sure to mention GODEY’s MAGAZINE. Kindly be PILLOW-INHALER CO., 1409 CHESTNUT STREET, PHILADELPHIA, PA. The very best way to know whether Dobbins’ Electric Soap is as good as it is said to be is to ¢ry zt yourself. It can’t deceive you. Only be careful not to get an imitation. There area great many Electrics and Magnetics, all intended to deceive the public into supposing that they are Dobbins’ Electric, or just as good. We have made this since 1869. It is the orig- inal Electric, and is guaranteed to be worth four times as much as any other soap ever made. For washing any- thing, from the finest lace to the heaviest blanket, it is without a peer. Only follow directions. all that we say on the two wrap- pers around the soap, and then READ CAREFULLY we ia siora io ever use any other soap than this, after having heard its own story, told you by your own test of it. DOBBINS SOAP M’F’G CoO., Successors to I. L. Cragin & Co., PHILADELPHIA, PA. SAMPLES MAILED FOR 10 CENTS IN STAMPS. “Golden Chop” Blend. ERE’S a new blend of Tea—all black—to which your attention is directed. Some people will not drink a blend of Tea that has any Green Tea in it whatever, although we our- selves believe that the little bit of Green Tea that we use in our great ** Caricol’’ Blend at 24c., or 5 pounds for One Dollar, is a considerable ad- vantage, both to the flavor, the aroma, and the strength. But you know there’s no accounting for taste, as the man said when he kissed his cow. So, to satisfy such drinkers of Tea as they who mus/ have an All-Black Tea, we’ve placed on sale our Golden Chop Tea, It’s made up of good, sound Moning, Congou, toasty Formosa Oolongs, Japan Oolongs, and Foochow Oolongs, producing a rare blend witha rich, fragrant aroma, and a cup quality that you'll probably not match for less than 80oc. perlb. And our price will be 34e, per Ib., or 5 lbs. for $1.50. Quality guaranteed every time. Now, let’s hear from you. Expressage, 10c. per pound extra, or 35c. on the 5-/b. package. Thomas Martindale & Co., TENTH AND MARKET STREETS, Mention GODEY’S—sure. PHILADELPHIA, PA Correspondents with advertisers will confer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S,

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ged the jous S, it |pon ody uch- ods, akes y be APs, Seidtetaethotmcaciarcns GAIN the Brownies have found something new to interest them. They have entered a house with the inten- tion of holding high carnival, but a lighted lamp on the parlor table must first be extinguished, so that ng one can peep in through the windows and see them. This lamp gives a very strong light, at least a third greater they think than any lamp they have ever Seen, and although they have blown until their little lungs are sore, they cannot blow it out. “‘ There is something new about this,” said Nim- blefoot; “ What in the world shall we do?” “Go get a ladder,’’ said Skylark,‘‘ and you, Wildfire, with your bellows, climb up there and blow down the chimney.” A ladder is brought, and Nimblefoot, with the as- Sistance of the others, at last succeeds in stretching a tiny rope to the top of the shade, upon which Wild- fire climbs, and is about to use the bellows, when a cry from Skylark is heard. ‘ Hold on, boys,” says he, “ I’ve got it ; this lamp has one of those new Eagle Burners with the Boland Automatic Extin- guisher ; you don’t have to blow out these; just look at me, all you have to do is to turn down the wick and out she goes.” And with that Skylark gave the screw a short turn to the left and the room was in darkness. The Eagle Burners with the Boland Auto- matic Extinguisher enable you to turn out the light as easily as gas—without smoke, odor or danger. They prevent the wick from crusting and the oil from evaporating when the lamp is not in use, and owing to their peculiar construction a greater sup- ply of oxygen is introduced, which passes THROUGH the wick, forcing up the flame, thereby giving one- third more light. Makes home brighter, happier, and safer. For sale by all grocers and dealers, or, we will send, post-paid, on receipt of price. In sizes same as all common burners. A, or No. 1, 15 cents; B, or No. 2, 20 cents; D, or No. 3, 25 cents. ADDRESS ROOM 411 (Mailing Dept.), American Burner Company, Industrial Trust Co. Building, PROVIDENCE, R. I. Correspondents with advertisers will confer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S.

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eS S EI y) @: 24 ~~ Dress binings Positively unchangeable and wri not crock nor discolor by per- spiration. Fashionable Dress- makers and Ladies’ Tailors use them for the most expensive gowns, and yet the cost is low enough for any dress. For Sale at all Dry Goods Stores. Look for this on every yard of the Selvage: gy Will not chafe the shoes like Mohair. Will not hold the dirt like Velveteen. Dressmakers say a pure WORSTED BRAiC—like Goff's—is unequalled. If you cannot match your cloth, send sample and 8 cts. for Syd. (red) “spool, or 6 cts. for 3 t-4yd. (black) spool, to D. Goff & Sons, Pawtucket, R. |. THE LATEST original designs are on exhibition at our Pattern Department. None but French Models. THE MorsE- BROUGHTON COMPANY, 3 EAST 19TH STREET, Bet. Broadway and sth Ave.. NEW YORK. +2 TEA Cloth Jacket. Send for sample copy of the improved L’ArT 768 DE LA Monk free. Price of Flat Pattern, 25 cents. Correspondents with advertisers will confer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S.

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‘epee 4 2 Se ee Your Frocks are not complete unless they are equipped with SS TRADE MARK _——~ Se GB SS _" BF => e® @® @ e® @]e229 Set IZs a OMO REGisTERE? | , ( ( ’ ( | OM QO Dress , Shields § Waterproof and Odorless. $ CONTAIN NO RUBBER. S| 3 If your dealer does not keep them, send 25 cents for a sample pair to the Middlesex Mfg. ogee: Omo Dress Shield Dept., 67 New Street, New York } ‘easatinainatiia tina: Hinata = e @ ee 282828 28 080808080288 Featherbone For Waists, Sleeves and Skirts Instruction free. Call at our Parlors— 833 Broadway, New Yor is Wabash Avenue, | [) Caseage 40 West Street, Bos ; 1113 Chestnut Street, Bhitadelphia Send 65c. for 12-yard sample Skirt Warren Featherbone Co, Three Oaks, Mich. ESSE NBROIDEREK AISES BRAINERD & ARMSTRONG'S “ASIATIC DYE’’ WASH EMBROIDERY SILK. For sale everywhere. Manufactured by THE BRAINERD & ARMSTRONG SILK CO, 51 Union Street, New London, Conn, COPYRIGHTED, 1895, BARBOUR BROS. CO. BARBOUR’S Prize Needlework Series, No. 4. Just Issued—150 Pages—Profusely Illustrated. EW and Practical information about the Latest Designs in Lace Making, Embroidery and Needlework in Barbour’s Prine Needlework Series oO. 150 pages—with illustrations all of actual working designs— the personal contributions of the brightest needleworkers from all parts of the country—several Color Plates—Lace Curtains illustrated—and all made with Barbour’s Threads. Book, No. 4, mailed te any address on receipt of 10 cents. THE Saas BROTHERS COMPANY, Chicago. New York. —— we Leeds. San Francisco. J , PICTURES of Flowers an Fruits in natural colors, al) different, size 17x 24ins., retail price $125. Ifyou will mention this paper and enclose 35 cents, will send post-paid free. Address—H. M. WALL, Lithographer, 387 Leonard St., Brooklyn, ™. Y- =e) 100 all dif. Honduras, Costa kica, etc., only 15c.,2Wall dif, Haytl, Hawaii, etc., only 50c. Ag’ts wanted at50perct.com. List FREE! ) C.A.Stegmann, 2706 Eads Av.,St.Louis,Mo. ODEY’S MAGAZINE for 1896 will contain illustrated articles on art and travel; sketches, short stories, serials, poetry, book reviews, etc. The Fashion Department will be of particular interest to women. A feature of Gopey’s which is unique among monthly magazines is the series now running under the title of “ Music in America.” The papers are of interest to all readers and of positive value to those who play or sing. THE GODEY COMPANY, 52 LAFAYETTE PLACE, NEW YORK CITY. Correspondents with advertisers will confer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S.

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OT contact night and morning with a cake of PEBOGEEBBO 4 WooDBURYS 4 3 Facial Soap Skin’ Scalp & 2 Om nlexion A PURE ANTISEPTIC - TOILET SOAP ple Cake of Facial Soap and a 132- book on Derma. tology and Beauty, illustrated; on Skin, Scalp, Nervous and Blood Diseases, their treatment and cure, sent sealed for 10 cts.; also i Disfigurements, like Birth Marks, Moles, Warts, India Ink and Powder Marks, Scars, Pittings, Redness ‘of Nose, Superfinous Hair, Pimples, Freckles, Facial Development, Changing the Features, Shaping the Ears, Nose, etc. Address all letters to JOUN H. WOODBURY DERWATOLOGICAL INSTITUTE, ‘ VUVUIUQVY 127 West 42d Street, New York City. Rane oe ES FOR THE bape “et. - me ee inte" Walnnt 54 Binet, i Philadelphia. Tutee viree t Bulldice BIBIBHAAD will do wonders for any complexion. Woodbury’s Facial Soap is prepared only under the auspices of the regular physicians at the great John H. Woodbury Dermato- logical Institute, 127 West Forty-second Street, New York, with branches in Boston, Philadelphia, Chicago, and St. Louis. John H Woodbury has had over twenty years’ practical experience treating the Complexion, curing Skin Diseases, Facial Blemishes, and Featural Irregularities. If anybody knows what is good for the skin he ought to know. Woodbury’s Facial Soap is cleansing, healing, beautifying, fragrant, refreshing. Doctors recommend it for washing infants, and for ladies’ all-around use it is matchless. For sale everywhere. A sample cake and 132-page book, illustrated, on Dermatology and Beauty sent anywhere for 10 cents. Correspondents with advertisers will confer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S. )

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a, 1g vs g, is

The late Prof. Basil Manley, of the South. Bap. Theo. Seminary, Louisville, Ky., says of the Aerial Medi- cation: “J can cordially recommend its use.” Write —— for a fac-simile of his letter. Rev. W. E. Penn, the noted evangelist of Eureka Springs, Ark., says: “I was cured of Catarrhal Deafness in 1886, by the use of the Aerial Medication, and it has proved to be a permanent cure. I recommend this treatment wherever I go, and know of many cases of Catarrh and Lung trouble that have been cured by its use.” Rev. W. E. PENN. Medicines for 3 Months’ Treatment Free. To introduce this treatment and prove be- yond doubt that it will cure Deafness, Catarrh, Throat, and Lung Diseases, I will, for a short time, send medicines for three months’ treatment free. Address J. H. MOORE, M.D., Cincinnati, O. “ CHARMANT’” Turkish Wonder Balm ha . will positively cure all face blemishes, black- Z ; heads, pimples, or blotches of every char- acter, rendering the skin soft and velvety.

Unsurpassed for Eczema and kindred troub- ¥ les, checking irritation, without harmful results. |{$ COMPOSED OF BAL- SAM AND HERBS, AND WARRANTED HARMLESS. MONEY REFUNDED IF RE- SULTS ARE NOT AS CUARANTEED. this is no patent medicine, but comprises a salve and soap that have been used in Turkey for thousands of years and are now imported solely by us. Can furnish unquestionable testimo- nials from physicians of integrity of New York City, as to their healing and beautifying properties. Price, $1.00 each for Soap and Salve, or $2.00 for both. Sent by mail in plain wrappers on receipt of price. TURKISH BALM CO., Room A, 19 Union Square, New York. Ladies in Attendance. Hours from 11 A.M. to 4 P.M. MENNEN’S -Borated Talcum wa Toilet | Powder Approved by Highest Medical Authorities as a Perfect Sanitary Toilet Preparation for infants and adults. Delightful after shaving. Pos- itively Relieves Prickly Heat, Nettle Rash, Chafed Skin, Sunburn, etc. Re- ; moves Blotches, Pimples, Tan, makes the skin smooth and healthy. Decorated Tin Box, Sprinkler Top. Sold by Druggists or mailed for 25 cents. Send for Free Sample. (Name this paper). GERHARD MENNEN CO., Newark, N. J.

Backache? Backache is death to many weary women. Death to health; death to com- fort and happiness. What causes it? Sick kidneys. Kidneys that are sick from the ever- lasting strain on them. How to be rid of it? To take enough rest. Not to work too hard. Not to worry. To help Nature by taking Di H obb’s

A few doses will relieve. <A few boxes will cure. Backache is one out of many symptoms of kidney trouble. Some of the others are: Anaemia, Pale and Sal- low Complexion, Sleeplessness, Tired- ness, Depression of Spirits, Lack of Ambition, Nervousness, Headache, Sideache, Neuraigia, etc. Dr. Hobb’s Sparagus Kidney Pills will cure all these troubles by their healing soothing and tonic action on the kidneys. When the pills have cured, the kidneys will stay cured; unless they are overworked again. Sold by all druggist, or mailed prepaid for 50 peaks a box. “4 vies Interesting medical pamphlet about the kidneys, “4 Filter for Your Blood,” mailed free on request. HOBB’S MEDICINE CO., Dep’t. C. Chicago. San Francisco.

Correspondents with advertisers will confer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S.

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ESE MUS GE1-ANC-OU: HAIR ON THE FACE, NECK, ARMS OR ANY PART OF THE ‘PERSON QUICKLY DISSOLVED AND REMOVED WITH THE NEW SCLUTION as -—_ — —_— es se — mead ee AnD — que FOREVER DESTROYED WITHOUT THE SLIGHTEST INJURY OR DISCOLORATION OF THE MOST DELICATE S8KIN.—DISCOVERED BY ACCIDENT. In CoMPOUNDING, an incomplete mixture was accidentally spilled on the back of the hand, an: on washing afterward it was discovered that the hair was completely removed. We purchase: ) the new discovery and named it MODENE. It is perfectly pure, free from all injurious sub stances, and so simple any one ay use it. It acts mildly but surely, and you will surprised and de lighte od with the results. Apply for a few minutes, and the hair disappears as if by magic It has no resemblance whatever to any other preparation ever ased for a like purpose, and n scientific discovery ever attained such wonderful results. IT CANNOT FAIL. If th: growth be light, one application will remove it permanently; the heavy growth such as the beard or hair on moles may require two or more applications before all the roots are destroyed, al- though all hair will be removed at each application, and without the slightest injury or unple: 18- ant feeling when applied or ever afterward. —MODENE SUPERCEDES ELECTROLYSIS. RECOMMENDED BY ALL WHO HAVE TESTED ITS MERITS—USED BY PEOPLE OF REFINEMENT.—— Gentlemen who do not appreciate nature’s gift of a beard, will find a priceless boon in Modene which does away with shaving. It dissolves and destroys the life principle of the hair, thereby rendering its future growth an utter impossibility, and is guaranteed to be as harmless as water to the skin. Young persons who find an embarrassing growth of hair coming, should use Modene ™ to destroy its growth. Modene sent by mail, in safety mailing cases, postage paid, (securely sealed from observation) on rece ipt of price, $1.00 per bottle. Send money by fette er. with your full address written plainly. Correspondence sacredly private. Postage stamps received the same as ¥ cash. aLware MENTION YOU we COUNTY AND THIS PAPER. (Cut ge as it may pe anpe ar Tos L AND MODENE MANUFACTURING CO,, CINCINNATI, S.A oF MANUFACTURERS OF THE HIGHEST GRADE HAIR PREPARATIONS. You can register your letter at any Post-office and insure its safe delivery. bs WE OFFER $1,000 FOR FAILURE OR THE SLIGHEST INUURY. EVERY BOTTLE GUARANTEED. MatviNA CREAM R. T. FELIX GOURAUD’S ORIENTAL CREAM, OR MAGICAL BEAUTIFIER. Removes Tan, Pimples, Freckles, Moth =I 0 53 3 Patches, Rash, and Skin diseases, and every ¥ £ ca Bus blemish on beauty, and defies For Beantifving the Complexion. | o-oo detection. It has stood the test Removes all Freckies, Tan, Sunburn, Pimples, Liver = mite se of 2 veers. end te 00 barnes Moles, and other imperfections. Not covering but remov- a -— - gE as page ing all blemishes, and permanently restoring the oa a — ot we taste it to be eure it is prop- plexion to its original freshness. ie peniect Dru Snes erly made. Accept no counter- jer tpaid on receipt of 50c. Ui P f, 7 wh fi eo 7 ‘ndtdatier cine, Be td MALVINA ICHTHYOL SOAP fot. Hue err eS Zz Sayre said to a lady of the 25 Cents a Cak EDO, G haut-ton (a patient): ‘* As you ladies will use them, I recom- mend ‘Gouraud’s Cream’ as the least harmful of all the Skin preparations.” For sale by all Druggists and Fancy Goods Dealers in the U. S., Canadas, and Europe. FERD. T. HOPKINS, Proprietor, 37 Great Jones St., N. Y. Marshall’s Catarrh Snuff ~ has never been equaled for the instant relief of Catarrh, Cold in the Head, and Headache. ' No Question About What They Do. Cures Deafness, restores lost sense of smell. Sixty years : on the market. All Druggists sell it. 25c. per bottle. WG Hard Hearing Made Easy Lacs eon S00 9 ANDES a by simple, soft Faro govt ices. Safe to wear, invisible, and comfortable. DR. MURAT’S TONIC WHAT THEY same May be LADIES PILLS 4 p Stomach, Liver, Kidney, and other ailments. Best in the world. Il. Book & ay be returned if hearing is not im- Cures Nervous Meadache Y *° -.*D0~., SS ~~ Write for booklet, ‘‘Sound Discs, Coupon 1 Box Free. br MURAT MED. CO., Office 6, Cincinnati, 0. Vijii\\ ~~ and What They Do.” “jj j i\\’ H. A, WALES CO., 655 ASHLAND BLOCK, CHICAGO. ; LINDEN BLOOM Souvenir Booklet ‘How to Choose and Use FREE TO BALD HEADS ‘ PERFUMES: We will mail on application, free information how to grow hair upon a bald head, stop falling hair and remove scalp diseases. Address, tCulture ALTENHEIM MEDICAL DISPENSARY, 127 East Third Sreet, Cincinnati, 0. ISAACTHOMPSONS EYE WATER Know Thyself By Knowing = = - “Tablets that Cure.”? Nota “Cure-all.’’ For Headache only. ’ to hipaa eA Non-Cathartic, No Opiates, fafilicted with SORE EYES use FOOTE & JENKS Burrelle’s Press Clipping Bureau reads all afford prompt relief from BURRE LLE. HE AD AGHE Arcadia Headache Tablets papers published, clipping therefrom all items of designated interest to clients. SICK OR NERVOUS HEADACHE. EXECUTIVE OFFICE, WESTERN UNION BUILDING, AAR AKRARAARADARARAA 25c. a box, post-paid. NEW YORK. None “Just as Good.” Arcadia Tablet Co., Meriden, Ct. Correspondents with advertisers will confer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S.

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I’s been ’ the che. ears He VL Loe] 300k & nati, 0. only. lets HE. Ct “The Praises of | (C Have Been Sung fer ae — ww mappa. : (cnr Zar — { 7 \f >=s— Saye \" Vr Wy) 0,0 . Z iy» - Ae ie FD ee ya west RESTORE YOUR EYESIGHT. Hundreds convinced. Cataracts can be absorbed. Diseased eyes or lids said to be incurable cured at our Sanitarium (or It’sa pleasure to getup in the morning if the use of Wright’s Antiseptic fi] h by mail). The most humane and successful treatment in ir the world. No knife or risk. Pamphlet free and should be in every family. ‘‘ Don’t miss it.” Address Sanitarium, Glens Falls, N. Y. HYPNOTI My original method, $2. 100-page book, . 10 cents. One on Personal Magnetism, 10 cents. Prof. ANDERSON, GZ11 Masonic Temple, Chicago. Excessive Sweating Feet. Sample Size of Cure in Plain, Sealed Envelope, toc. Tooth Soap ° is a part of yonr toilet; put upinelegant china le and decorated tin box- Wa esfortravellers. Large Me box for25c. instamps. WRIGHT &CO. Chem- ists, Detroit, Mich.. BeEwaRE oF Imrrations. AAAs pbb beep bhp e sss eeebebeais | avvvvvyv sent free. 5 LAZZARETTE REMEDY CoO., Unadilla, N. Y. HORThand by the PERNIN method guaranteed in 8 IMPLE to 12 Weeks. Exclusive WORLDS FAIR Award. No shading, no position. For free WIFT _ iesson and circulars, write H. M. PERNIN, Author, Detroit, Mich. 4 BROWNS Dr SAACTROMPSONS EYE WATER If afflicted with SORE EYES use CAMPHORATED SAPONACEOUS DENTIFRICE When writing advertisers you FOR THE will confer a favor by mentioning TEETH. that you saw the advertisement in GODEY’S MAGAZINE. The Best Toilet Luxury as a Dentifrice in the World. To Cleanse and Whiten the Teeth, To Remove Tartar from the Teeth, To Sweeten the Breath and Preserve the Teeth, To Make the Gums Hard and Healthy, Mrs. Winslow's Soothing Syrup Use Brown's Camphorated has been used for over FIFTY YEARS by MIL- LIONS of MOTHERS FOR THEIR CHIL- ' t DREN WHILE TEETHING with perfect SUC- CESS. It SOOTHES THE CHILD, SOFTENS ‘ THE GUMS, ALLAYS ALL PAIN, CURES WIND COLIC, and is the BEST REMEDY FOR DIARRHCEA. Sold by druggistsinevery Price, Twenty-five Cents a Jar. part of the world. Twenty-five Cents a Bottle. For Sale by all Druggists. Correspondents with advertisers will confer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S,

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CETUS G-C1- AHO

THE “‘PRACTICAL.” Trousers HANCER AND Press. KEEPS TROUSERS * Smooth as if Ironed.’’ Besides being thoroughly effective, it is scientifically constructed of beautiful hard woods and nickeled brass parts, and not mark the cloth with disfiguring cross lines as do all otherdevices. Another val- uable feature is that the device is auto= matic in action and adjusts itself to any thickness of cloth. It will positively ree ze | aeons oe ng an cade marks and wrinkles ri causec y turning the trousers up on a $= 8 h rainy day, and it sses that particu- as it far merit by which the practicability of * every new idea is judged, by being so easy TADS) «to use as to be “Quicker than Carelessness.” We guarantee the device to give com- plete satisfaction, and if you don’t like it send it back and we will refund. PRICE, 75 CENTS, POST-PAID. REMIT BY STAMPS, POSTAL NOTE OR OTHERWISE. DUPLICATE ORDERS ARE OUR GREATEST CHAMPIONS. WE SEND YOU FAC-SIMILE LETTERS OF SOME OF THEM AND OUR INTER- ESTING CIRCULAR FREE ON REQUEST. PRACTICAL NOVELTY CO., 433 Walnut St., Phila., Pa. Also the PRACTICAL CLOSET ROD, price 25 cents, post- paid. It is made of wrought steel, nickel-plated, is 9 inches long and constructed with a detachable socket, rendering it very easy to put in place—a truly good thing to increase the capacity of a closet. We send, express paid, six of the Practical Trousers Hangers and two Closet Rods for $4.50. Did you ever goto your closet and find several coats, a pair or two of trousers, and perhaps some of your wife’s dresses, all hanging on the same hook and on top of just the garment you wanted? Well, this never happens when you use our devices and arrangement. The picture shows why this is and indicates the capacity of a Rod.

) DOYLEY & ) CENTERPIECE <I BOOK Most “ up to date ” book on the subject. Chapters on Embroidery Stitches, Centerpieces, Doyleys, Ideal Honiton, Lun- cheon and Tea Cloths, Cut Work and Table Spreads in Denim. Over 70 Engraved Illustrations. Instructions for working each pattern are so plain that the beginner need not hesitate to undertake them. In- valuable to every lady who embroiders. Sent postpaid to any address for 10c. or the names of five ladies interested in embroidery and 4c, to cover postage. meine matrona rps

61 Union St., New London, Conn.

Improved SIMPLEX TYPEWRITER 84 characters. Quality of work equal to the best. Rapid and easy to operate. Sent by mail or express, pre- paid, on receipt of $3.25. In hand- some hard-wood case, 50 ets. extra. Simplex Typewriter Co., 24 & 26 E. 13th St., N.Y.

DO YOU LOSE HOW OFTE YOUR KNIFE? Once usually—then it’s gone for Not so with our Novelty Knife —— It tells the finder who you are and : 7 where you can be found, also identi- fies you in case o accident. The handle is made of an indestructible, transparent composition, more beautiful than pearl. Beneath the handles are placed your name and ad- dress, photo of mother or friend, society emblems, celebrities, etc. Blades are hand forged from the finest razor steel, workmanship perfect and a printed war- ranty is sent with each knife. Two bladed knife, men’s, $1 to $1.75, 3 blades $1.50to $2.50, 2 bladed, boys’, 75 cents, ladies $1 to $1.75. For each photo 25 cents additional. Handsome Christmas resents, Catalogue free. Send cash with order. Agents Wanted. Address retail department. NOVELTY CUTLERY CO., Box 197, Canton, O.

FREE’ return mail,full descriptive circulars of Moody’s New and Moody’s Improved Tailor System of Dress Cut- ‘ting. Revised to date. ‘These, only, are the genuine Moody Tailor Systems, Be- ware of imitations. Any lady of ordinary intelligence can easily and quickly learn to “/ cut and make any garment, in any style, to e/ hes’ any measure, for ladies, men and children. Garments guaranteed to fit perfectly without tryingon. Thousands of Dressmakers use bs this system in teaching. Agents wanted. MOODY & CO., CINCINNATI. 0. Post Office Box, 1540.

GENERAL HARRISON says that §4 LA FLICA E 9) the new “‘ CONFECTION IN CHEESE,” was an “‘ ac- ceptable addition ” to his table at y FultonChain. “LA DELICATESSE COMPANY,” Herkimer, N.Y.

Correspondents with advertisers will confer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S,

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SS ‘ - . Most Women Would like to wear a genuine all Whalebone corset if it wasn’t for the high price dealers are asking. Well—you know Whalebone is a | pretty expensive article, still we man-

y cannot be raised. age to manufacture a genuine all i Whalebone corset at a price that will suit everybody; and you can buy the imported French Red Star Corset, R. C. at $2.50, $3.50, $5.00. Check Pretagior Perforate your checks with this Protector—the » A, POWERS, 729 E. 139th Street, N. Y.

= —_ as oe .

Coutil. Diamond Sateen. Satin. e All Horn Corset of best Coutil, ie " P $1.50. MR a A Oe OE © 2G Ta Ask your dealer for them! OBS oP. eeteee ecetegs tot 5. Mee% v0 too (SAMPLE OF PERFORATIONS.) AGENTS WANTED—Liberal Discounts. ay Correspondents with advertisers will confer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S. Be sure and look for our Trade-mark, the Red-Star.

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Oo Dollars for 3.5 ie IF YOU BUY NOW. A Ten-Dollar set of Shakspeare for $3.50. We mean exactly what we say. This set is worth $10.00 to any reader, no matter how many other editions he may have. We shall sell it direct for a short time only at $3.50, and any one who is dissatisfied may have his money back. These can never be ons ht any cheaper. Never as cheap be advanced. e regular price of the'set is $10.) This isa Pho sno for readers. It is the only cially “eet — a dead surface, restful to the eyes. Collier, F. it to be the ‘best edition ever printed for actual use. for the retailer’s and the jobber’s profit. profits. direct from the manufacturers at a saving of more profit is yours. Provo Crry, Uran. Keystone Pusiisnine “o. Gentlemen :—The eight- volume edition of Shakspeare is to hand in good condition, though coming to far-away Utah. The books are a marvel of cheapness and the best book bargain I have made inalong time. The type, binding and, in fact, everything about it is first-class, except the price. To say that we are de- lighted does not fully express our feeling. You ought to sell tens of thousands of sets at that price. When you have any more bargains of that kind, do not fail to let ne know. Yours truly, JOSEPH WILKS, Pastor First Methodist Chureh. | in good, serviceable cloth binding, in eight handsome volumes of easily handleable size. Paper spe- the celebrated’ Shakspearian critic, with variorum readings. The reader buying direct from us can have both of these We can’t afford to sell very long at $3.50, which is less than the wholesale price, of this special $3.50 offer is to make a quick te: st ‘of whether the discriminating readers of this Magazine, who will appreciate a large, clear type, scholarly edition of Shakspeare, complete, are ready to buy Order to-day and be sure of getting the lowest price that will ever be quoted. TWO OPINIONS. HUNDREDS MORE LIKE THETS1. Keystone Puswisuine Co., | may desire to own a beautiful set of Shakspeare’s works. again. In our next announcement the price will edition printed in large type. It is strongly bound There are copious notes on the text by J. Payne We honestly believe ‘We published it to retail at $10. That allowed The object than half the cost. If you are, the middle-men’s Newryeron, N. H, Gentlemen :—I have received and examined the eight-volume set of Shakspeare which you shipped me. I am agreeably sur- prised at the attractiveness of the binding and the clearness of the type. The size of the volumes is very convenient and particularly adapted for use in Shakspeare Clubs. I have shown my set to two members of the Newington Club. I will ask you as a favor to ship me by express two more sets of your $10.00 edition of Shakspeare, for which you will find money order en- closed. I consider them wonderfully cheap at the price you are advertising them, and heartily recommend them to any one who Yours truly, FLORENCE HOYT. Remember—the regular $10 set in eight handsome volumes (only large-type edition) for $3. 333 with the distinct understanding that the money will be returned immediately if you are not satisfie We refer to Dun and Bradstreet and to every bank in Philadelphia. KEYSTONE PUBLISHING CO., Eighth and Locust Sts., Philadelphia. 43 vane Moderate Prices, BEFORE THE TERNS PUBLIC. REASONABLE. SWEET TONED. pores A Posteo. SOLD ON Warranted. MERIT. Catalogues Free EMERSON PIANO 60,99 FirTH Ave. New You, 118, BOYLSTON ST., BOSTON, MASS. i8 WABASH AVE. CHICAGO, | WHIST LAW As revised and adopted by the American Whist Congress, with rules for KALAMAZOO DUPLICATE WHIST, sent to any address. Send 2c. stamp. IHLING BROS. & EVERARD, Kalamazoo, Mich. S: you have any rare American or tor- eign coins or paper money issued before S= keep them and send two stamps to Numismatic Bank, Boston, Mass., for 50 | N Fortune for sumebody. ARNICAS S' FAR THE BEST dentifrice; anette —harmless—effective. No soapy taste. trial will make you its lasting friend. Substitutes are not A good.” All druggists or by mail 25e. C. H. Strong & Co., Chicago. Ads, Coin Dept. 6. amemican Are unequaled for smooth, tough points. Samples worth double the money for 16c. Jos. Dixon Crucible om Jersey City, N. J. Mention GODEY’ TOP SNAP, BUY-CYCLES Extension Rib a etaenabadent Bead rs for 60-page catalogue. DOUBLE POWELL & CLEMENT CO. t,Oineinnati,O, Breech¢=y, Leeder? 720 WE PAY Cash, $5. to $100 a thousand for Newspaper Clippings and your neighbors addresses, all kinds. Particulars for stamp. News Clipping Co., Dep’t, CA. 304 W. 139th St., N. Y. Sore E¥E3 Dr [SAACTHOMPSONS EYE WATER Ss" “ND for specimen pages of Webster’s International Dictionary. G. & C. MERRIAM CO., Springfield Mass. WONDERFUL] YOUR '4-------- Plated Jewelry bought for CASH; also, old gold or silver watches, Jewelry, etc., unused diamonds and gems. Send registered mail or express. We remit immediately, H. —— Rochester, PRESENTS Easily got by pogo us your old jewelry, and what others will give you for the asking. Estab’d 1880. Correspondents with advertisers will confer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S.

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rece snte ae —— v Thousands of doctors, lawyers, clergymen, business men, teachers, scholars, and parents, as well as thousands of other readers of this paper, have requested us to make a sqoctal offer, for a limited time, on our great standard dictionary and ency- clones of the world’s knowledge. -We have decided to do so simply as a means of advertising this great storehouse of information. We do not expect to make money by this offer, as the very low price and extremely liberal terms offered but little more than pays for paper, printir z, and binding; but the tremendous amount of talk created will help to advertise this most modern and up-to-date home referejace library. No business or professional man, house¥ife, teacher, student, young or old, progeces or otherwise, or any one else who wishes to keep abreast of the times, or who is interested in the laudable enterprise of self-education, can afford to allow this rare opportunity to pass by without very careful investigation. Understand this great work embodies all the features of a complete dictionarv, and a thorough encyclopedia, The work has been adopted ss a text book by many schools and colleges, and is regarded as authority wherever the English lauguage is spoken. The new, revised, enlarged, and entirely up to the times Encyclopedic Dictionary the regular price of which is from $42 to %7 0, is now offered all readers of this paper for the insignificant sum of 7 qoute per day, in monthly payments of $2 each, until thesum of $16 is paid. This is but little more than one-third the regular price of the four mag- nificent volumes as represented in the picture. This greatest of all dictionaries and ency- clopeedia was edited by such world-renowned scholars Dr. Bobert Hunter, A.M., F.G.S., Profs. Hurley, Morris, Herrtage, Estoclet, Williams, etc., assisted by scores of other specialists in vari- ous branches of knowledge. Over 17 years and $750,000.00 required in the production of this Magnificent Monument of Education. it is a Complete Dictionary of the English language. Every word is exhaus- tively treated as toits origin, history, develop- ment, etymology, pronunciation, and various other meanings. It is a Thorough Encyclopedia of anatomy,botany, chemistry, zoology. foology. art. music, agriculture, physics, hhilosophy, mechanics, history,my thology, biblical knowl- edge, etc. It is a Superb Library Book, sub- stantially bound, printed from new plates, in large, clear type, on heavy white paper, and illustrated with thousands of new pictures made especially for this work. It is better than all other diction- aries, because the latest edition of Worcester contains but 116,000 words and 2,126 pages; the latest Webster contains but 140,000 words and 2,011 pages, the Standard contains but a little over 200.000 words and 2,318 pages, and even The Century contains but 225,000 words and sells for $60 to $100. Encyclo as of various kinds sell for $50 to $200. ris greet ENCYCLOPEDIC DICTIONARY, The above illustration is an exact reproduction of the four magnificent volumes containing 5,357 pages, over 3,000 illustrations, of THE EncycLop£pic Dictionary. They are bound in rich, silk cloth, with gilt back bound in four handsome volumes, has over stamp, handsomely embossed sides, and marbled edges. Each-volume 9 inches 250,000 words, 50,000 encyclopedic subjects, wide, 114% inches long.3 inches thick. Contains 5,357 pages, 3,000 illustrations. and is sold on such easy terms everybody can Weight, about 40 pounds. buy it without financial inconveniences. CAUTION. What Cood Judges Say About the Work. ee P 7 : Syndicate Publishing Co., _ I prize highly The Encvclopzdic Dictionary for the number of words Dear Sir: it contains, for accuracy of definitions, for fullness of illustrations, aud In reply to your request, we hereby cer- ency clopedic comprehensiveness, tify that the Syndicate Publishing Company of Philae- Bishop Samuel Fallows, Chicago, Tl. delpnia, Pennsylwania, 0. 8. A., are the exclusive ané only authorized American publishers of *THB Z , ere 7 . a ENCYCLOPAEDIC DICTIONARY.* eir edition has been I consider The Encyclopedic Dictionary superior to Webster, Wor- corrected and revised to date for the benefit of cester, Century, or Standard. For the busy lawyer who wants to know the American People. It has our full approval ané things quickly, no better reference book could be had. endorsement. Any other work claiming to be revised with its title slightly changed, is not authorized te re . Benjamin F, Hughes, or recognized by us or by many of the editors whose Attorney and ex-State Senator, Philadelphia. aames are used. y Purchasers ehould always see that the name of I have Webster, Worcester, and the Century, and for encyclopedia I ST cae thehe esae. te Gee a ek et have the Britannica and Appleton’s. It is but simple truth to say that THE CASSELL PUBLISHING CO. ‘The Encyclopedic Dictionary is a magnificent substitute for all of them, J. H, Atwood, Attorney, Leavenworth, Kan. Ah L banelkr bat Satisfaction Guaranteed or money refunded if books are returned within ten days. DON’T FORCET This special offer holds good for a short time only. The price will be gradually increased until it reaches $42 to $70 per set, and no discounts will then be allowed, It is not for sale in bookstores, and can only be obtained from us or our authorized representative. HOW TO GET THIS CREAT WORK. —Send $2 by post-office order, exvress order, or check, and the entire four handsome volumes will be forwarded. Every month thereafter send $2. in the same manner, until the sum of $16 is paid. Understand the whole set of 4 volumes is sent when the first’$2 is paid, thus you have the use of them while paying the balance, at the rate of 7 cents per day. All freight or express charges must be paid by purchaser. We refer to any commercial agency, or any bank in Philadelphia. Any one wishing to pay cash for the complete set may deduct 10 per cent., and send $14.40. This allowance is practically the cost of keeping the account if purchased on easy terms. Address, (Please mention GODEY’s.) Pamphlet of 80 specimen pages free on receipt of 6 cents to pay postage. SYNDICATE PUBLISHING CO..,?36.Stccfita’ pa.’ Correspondents with advertisers will confer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S.

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p 1 PATEVTAIC \RTIGE nothin 2 lost Scott’s Emulsion makes cod-liver oil taking next thing to a pleasure. You hardly taste it. The stomach knows nothing about it—it does not trouble you there. You feel it first in the strength that it brings: it shows in the color of the cheek, the rounding of the angles, the smoothing of the wrinkles. It is cod-liver oil digested for you, slipping as easily into the blood and losing itself there as rain- drops lose themselves in the ocean. What a satisfactory thing this is—to hide the odious taste of cod-liver oil, evade the tax on the stomach, take health by surprise. There is no secret of what it is made of—the fish- fat taste is lost, but nothing is lost but the taste. Perhaps your druggist has a_ substitute for Scott’s Emulsion. Isn’t the standard all others try to equal the best for you to buy? 50 cents and $1.00 ScoTT & BOWNE All Druggists Chemists, i NEW YORK I Correspondents with advertisers will confer a favor by mentioning GODEY’S-

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ae ! ¢ [a Agreeable 4 ~ 57) Preventives in season are much surer than belated } or ~ drugs. A healthy condition of the Kidneys, Liver 4 igh 7, and Bowels ts the strongest safeguard against |. . Headaches, Racking Colds or Fevers. - S f Fy Acts as a perfect laxative should, cleansing and refreshing the system without weaken- ing it. Permanently curing constipation | and its effects. | Mild and Sure. Pleasant to the taste and free Srom objectionable sub- stances. Physicians re- commend it. Millions’ have found itinvaluable. Manufactured by California Fig Syrup Co. Sold everywhere in 50c. and $r bottles. ~every day its dirt. Keep your bouse clean and your beart happy DY USULG pees Sapolico == SAPOLIO a "8 Yh pum ||| \Nf | at \ Mh eo | \ \e J | \ o : a a | 4 AY)! Vi tin , | | Trow DIRECTORY, PRINTING AND BookBiNDINa ComPANY

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WORLD’S FAIR JUDGES AWARDED & HIGHEST HONORS one Sian, Touch’ ACTION, MATERIAL,

CONSTRUCTION: Catalogue free on ’ application to Vose & Sons’ Piano Co.,174 Tremont St., Boston, Mass.

| fuBee, INTERLINING Redfern and other leading Ladies’ Tailors use it in fash- ionable gowns. billian Russell, ia Mrs. Frank beslie, i Jenness Miller, and other prominent Leaders of Fashion insist upon it. For sale at Dry Goods and Lining stores. See that what you buy is stamped with letter s like this—

SOAP At all grocery stores east of the Rocky Mountains two sizes of Ivory Soap are sold; one that costs five cents a cake, and a larger size. The larger cake is the more convenient and eco- nomical for laundry and general house- hold use. If your Grocer is out of it, insist on his getting it for you. THE PROCTOR & GAMBLE CO., CIN’TI.

THEY ARE CALLED GLOVE: FITTING” BECAUSE THEY FIT AS WELL AND FEEL AS COMFORT- ABLE ASA FINE KID GLOVE HELLER & Co, WAY EW amen LOGUE LERS LANG DON. ei Alt 45-347 BROAT r

7 <r

coe k ‘MFG-CO-/YRISTS CHICAGO BOSTON RAMBLER DLL G Bie NEW YORK IS SAFE & LUXURIOUS BROOKLYN COVENTRY ip (al 16 Saas

Henry F. Miller. WRITE FOR CATALOGUE AND PRICES. Standard and Reliable PI ANOS COVENTRY 88a BOYLSTON STREET, BOSTON.

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